One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)

“And I’m the worthless ingrate who brings the family nothing but disgrace. I know, I know.” His flinty gaze clashed with a forced smile. “It’s worth a few coins to be rid of me, isn’t it?”


“Can’t you understand? I don’t want to be rid of you at all. I love you, you fool.” She smoothed that incorrigible wisp of hair that always curled at his left temple. “Won’t you let me help you, Jack?”

“Of course. If you’ll start with a shilling or two.”

With clumsy fingers, she loosened the strings of her reticule. “I will give you everything I have, on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You must promise me you’ll join us this summer, at Briarbank.”

The d’Orsays always summered at Briarbank—a rambling stone cottage overlooking the River Wye, down the slope from the ruins of Beauvale Castle. Amelia had been planning this summer’s holiday for months, down to the last damask tablecloth and saucer of currant jelly. Briarbank was the answer to everything, she knew it. It had to be.

Hugh’s death had devastated the entire family, but Jack most of all. Of all her brothers, the two of them had been the fastest friends. Hugh had been just one year older, but several years wiser, and his serious bent had always balanced Jack’s wilder personality. Without that check on his impulsive nature, Amelia feared Jack’s grief and recklessness were conspiring to disaster.

What he needed was love, and time to heal. Time spent far from Town, and close to home and family—what remained of both. Here in London, Jack was surrounded by temptation, constantly pressured to keep pace with his spendthrift peers. At Briarbank, he would surely return to his good-humored self. Young William would come on his break from school. Michael would still be at sea, of course, but Laurent and Winifred would join them, at least for a week or two.

And Amelia would be the perfect hostess. Just as Mama had always been. She would fill every room with great vases of snapdragons, arrange theatricals and parlor games, serve braised pheasant with blackberry glaze.

She would make everyone happy, by sheer force of will. Or bribery, if she must.

“I’ve a crown and three shillings here,” she said, extracting the coins from the pouch, “and six pounds more saved at home.” Saved, scrimped, scraped together, one penny at a time. “It’s yours, all of it—but you must promise me August at Briarbank.”

Jack tsked. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Who? Who didn’t tell me what?”

“Laurent. We’re not opening the cottage this summer. It was just settled this week. We’re letting it out.”

“Letting it out?” Amelia felt as though all the blood had been let from her veins. Suddenly dizzy, she clutched her brother’s arm. “Briarbank, let out? To strangers?”

“Well, not to strangers. We’ve put the word around at the clubs and expect inquiries from several good families. It’s a plum holiday cottage, you know.”

“Yes,” she bit out. “Yes, I do know. It’s so ideal, the d’Orsay family has summered there for centuries. Centuries, Jack. Why would we dream of leasing it out?”

“Haven’t we outgrown the pall-mall and tea biscuits routine? It’s dull as tombs out there. Halfway to Ireland, for God’s sake.”

“Dull? What on earth can you mean? You used to live for summers there, angling on the river and—” Comprehension struck, numbing her to the toes. “Oh, no.” She dug her fingers into his arm. “How much did you lose? How much do you owe?”

His eyes told her he’d resigned all pretense. “Four hundred pounds.”

“Four hundred! To whom?”

“To Morland.”

“The Duke of Midni—” Amelia bit off the absurd nickname. She refused to puff the man’s notoriety further. “But he’s not even arrived yet. How did you manage to lose four hundred pounds to him, when he’s not even here?”

“Not tonight. Days ago now. That’s why I must leave. He’ll be here any moment, and I can’t face him until I’ve made good on the debt.”

Amelia could only stare at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, I can’t bear it. I was holding my own until Faraday put his token in play. That’s what brought Morland to the table, drove the betting sky-high. He’s out to gather all ten, you know.”

“All ten of what? All ten tokens?”

“Yes, of course. The tokens are everything.” Jack made an expansive gesture. “Come now, you can’t be so out of circulation as that. It’s only the most elite gentlemen’s club in London.”

When she only blinked at him, he prompted, “Harcliffe. Osiris. One stud horse, ten brass tokens. You’ve heard of the club, I know you have.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. You seem to be telling me you’ve wagered our ancestral home against a brass token. And lost.”

“I was in for hundreds already; I couldn’t back down. And my cards … Amelia, I swear to you, they were unbeatable cards.”

“Except that they weren’t.”