The Duke of Paris (Tales from the Grand Tour Book 1) Read online

  Indignant, Dorothy stood. “And what about me made you think that?” she snapped, trying futilely to discern if she was more disappointed or angry.

  “You…you smiled at me,” Marshall said.

  Dorothy gaped at him. “And do you think every woman that smiles at you is desperate to part her legs for you?”

  “No,” he said, wincing and pressing a hand to his forehead. “God, no. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I was just—”

  His excuse was cut off as the door to the room flew open and Asher poked his head in.

  “There you two are,” he said, looking relieved. He opened the door fully and stepped into the room with a sheepish look. “Miss Sewett sent me off to find you. She said she saw the two of you slink off, and that it is outrageously inappropriate for the granddaughter of a duke to sneak through foreign corridors unaccompanied.”

  Marshall made a strangled sound and appeared to trip over his own feet, which was odd, considering he was standing still next to the fire.

  “Sorry, cousin Asher,” Dorothy said, sending a pointed look to Marshall. Had he not known who she was? “Lord Reith wanted to explore the palace’s artwork with me. But I can assure you, he’s kept me safe from harm and scandal.”

  It was a gigantic lie, but her life with Damien had taught her that massive lies were far safer than the truth in such matters.

  “Good,” Asher said with a smile and a nod. “I’ll leave you two to your explorations, then.” He turned to Marshall. “Take care of my cousin, Marshall. She’s far and away the sweetest of the McGovern clan.”

  With a final nod, he slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Marshall continued to stand by the fireplace, as pale as the marble behind him. “I didn’t know,” he repeated his earlier excuse. “I thought you were somebody’s ladies’ maid or a companion of some sort.”

  “I was present at supper,” she said, as if that were proof.

  Marshall tried to hide a wince. He’d wondered that exact thing, then dismissed it, all because he’d let desire overcome sense. “I didn’t know you were—”

  “The Honorable Miss Dorothy McGovern,” she told him, crossing her arms. “Daughter of Mr. Thomas McGovern, eighth child and sixth son of the fifth Duke of Addlebury. The woman you’ve just deflowered.”

  “Oh my god.” Marshall sagged against the side of the fireplace for a moment, shaking his head. As soon as his shoulder touched the marble, he pushed away, heading for her. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am,” he said. “What I just did was unforgivable.”

  “Would it have been forgivable if I were a ladies’ maid?” she asked in a stony voice.

  “No, no I didn’t mean that at all,” he said, anxiety pinching his face. “I only meant that…it wasn’t as if…you did enjoy it, didn’t you?” he asked at last, hope making him look almost bashful.

  Dorothy pressed her lips together. She could still feel the delicious throb in her sex. Focusing on it only fanned the flames within her that hadn’t quite gone out. The last thing she wanted to do was condone Marshall’s impetuousness or the way he had seemed about to callously cast her off after ruining her.

  Good heavens. She hadn’t stopped to consider that. He’d ruined her. And even though she had the feeling he wouldn’t tell a soul, how could she, in good conscience, enter an advantageous marriage, a marriage that would save both her and Damien, now? Damien was going to throttle her.

  “Whether I enjoyed it or not is not the point,” she said in a quiet voice, her face heating.

  “But,” Marshall stepped closer to her, “I would rest so much easier knowing that I didn’t hurt you, that I didn’t force you.” He swallowed.

  “You would sleep better?” Dorothy snapped. “And what about my sleep?”

  Marshall’s mouth flapped for a few seconds before he let out a groan, his shoulders dropping. “I am so, so, endlessly sorry.”

  “For giving me the greatest pleasure I’ve ever experienced?” she asked, eyes wide with indignation.

  Instantly, his expression snapped to confusion. “So you did enjoy it?”

  Dorothy’s cheeks heated so much she was certain she’d turned bright pink. “I might have,” she said. It felt strange to play coy. She’d never thought of herself as a society siren. But, in an odd way, it felt right. It felt powerful.

  She pulled herself to her full height and turned to go, glancing over her shoulder at Marshall with what she hoped was an alluring look. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your night, Lord Reith,” she said, starting for the door. “Goodnight.”

  She didn’t give him a chance to say anything more, though he certainly tried, without success. As soon as she reached and opened the door, she fled into the hallway. As soon as she was out of his sight, she let out a heavy breath, then burst into giggles. Good Lord, what was wrong with her? She should have been livid. That or deeply ashamed. Instead, she felt as though she were dancing on air, ruined or not.

  Chapter 4

  He felt terrible. Worse than he’d ever felt in his life. Not even the cheery late-spring sunlight beaming down on the verdant countryside near the Château de Saint-Sottises and sparkling on the water of the Seine, or the cheery laughter of the McGovern clan as the cousins enjoyed their afternoon walk could make him feel better.

  “This is a thousand times worse than a hangover,” Marshall grumbled to Sebastian as the two of them followed, several yards behind the mass of the McGoverns.

  “I didn’t see you drink much at supper last night,” Sebastian said, glancing sideways at him, his expression poised and ready to turn disapproving. “In fact, I didn’t see you at all after you and Miss McGovern left the rest of us behind.”

  Marshall peeked sideways at his brother. His face heated like a green boy caught abusing himself by his father. He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t face company after what I did.”

  Sebastian’s stare turned even harder. “Marshall,” he said in the same tone their nanny had used when they were still in the nursery. “What did I tell you about caution?”

  “You told me to use it,” Marshall mumbled.

  “What else did I tell you?” Sebastian arched a pointed eyebrow at him.

  “You told me to make sure I knew who the young woman I’d set my sights on was before I made any advances toward her.”

  Sebastian pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes, then shook his head. “If you had been more specific with me, I could have told you in a trice that your prey was Damien McGovern’s sister.”

  Marshall winced, glancing off toward the river and a group of schoolchildren who were being escorted in their play by a pair of nuns. That sort of innocence only made him hate himself more. Wickedness and debauchery had always been fun, a much-needed diversion from the harsh realities of life. The women who had gone all too willingly to his bed before had been as carefree and uninterested in attachment as he’d been. He’d never once crossed the line and accosted a woman who didn’t know with absolute certainty what he was after, or who wasn’t interested in giving it.

  Until now. He’d been so blinded by the need to bury his grief in pleasure that he’d spun out of control, acting carelessly and callously. And now….

  He sucked in a breath and glanced ahead to where Dorothy walked near the front of the pack of McGoverns with her brother. They had their heads together and were ignoring their cousins as they spoke. Dorothy was as radiant as ever in the sunlight. Her afternoon dress might not have been new or fashionable, but it fit her well and the color complimented her complexion.

  Marshall was surprised at the way his heart was the first of his organs to come to life at the sight of her, rather than his far more dastardly cock. She truly was beautiful. She held herself with confidence as well…not at all like a woman who had been accidentally deflowered by an idiotic rogue who couldn’t think past his own prick the night before.

  “Do I need to approach Damien McGovern about making amends?” Sebastian asked in a grave voice, th
ough his eyes seemed to sparkle at the prospect.

  Marshall rubbed a hand over his face. “Not necessarily. I…I have reason to believe that my gross miscalculation was not entirely unwelcome.”

  “So you didn’t force her,” Sebastian said.

  Marshall’s face flamed hotter, and he felt sick to his stomach. “No, I don’t believe I did.” The mass of McGoverns slowed and began spreading out their blankets and unloading picnic baskets on a gently-sloping hillside. “But that doesn’t make my actions forgivable.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Sebastian agreed.

  They stopped several yards short of the picnic sight. Marshall wasn’t certain if he belonged in company with decent people anymore. Not after what he’d become.

  “Well,” Sebastian said with a shrug. “There’s really only one thing you can do to fix what you’ve broken.”

  Marshall glanced sideways at him, his mouth twitching nervously, then fixed his sights on Dorothy once more as she and Damien joined some of the less glamorous cousins on a picnic blanket.

  “I’ll ask her to marry me,” he said, even though speaking those words aloud made his insides tremble. At least they weren’t trembling in fear. In fact, the quivering sensation was something far more like excitement and hope.

  When he glanced back to Sebastian, his brother’s brow had shot straight to his hairline. “I was going to say that you need to turn over a new leaf, swear to behave yourself, put aside your rakish ways, and go back to England to resume the responsibilities Father left you.”

  Marshall swallowed hard. “That too,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But one of those responsibilities is finding a suitable duchess.” He glanced back to Dorothy. “The granddaughter of a duke would certainly be able to fill the role.”

  Sebastian hummed but didn’t comment as he, too, glanced across the picnickers to Dorothy. Or perhaps Damien. “I can’t say I’d mind the family connection,” he said.

  A wry grin pulled at the corner of Marshall’s mouth, surprising him. It was strange, knowing where his brother’s unusual interests lay. Stranger still that he was apparently interested in the brother of the woman he now felt powerful obligations to.

  “Marshall, Sebastian, come have a seat,” Asher called to them from the near edge of the cluster of blankets, snapping Marshall out of his thoughts. “We’re on holiday, which means you shouldn’t be standing there, looking as though you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  “Quite right,” Sebastian said, thumping Marshall’s back, then crossing to have a seat on the edge of Asher’s blanket.

  Marshall followed, doing his best to keep a firm, noble demeanor as he sat in the grass beside the blanket and took the sandwich wrapped in paper that Asher handed to him.

  “We’ve got wine to go with that, if you’re interested,” Asher said.

  “No thank you.” Marshall held up a hand to refuse the bottle Asher offered him. If he was going to turn over a new leaf, he would have to start immediately. Staying sober and in control of his faculties was the very least he could do.

  “I think we should plan a trip to the Louvre for tomorrow,” Evangeline said, drawing Marshall into the conversation with a look. “I’ve heard that all of the finest artwork in Paris is contained within its walls. Wouldn’t you like to see that, Lord Reith?”

  “Of course,” Marshall answered, then took a bite of his sandwich so that he could avoid being part of the rest of the conversation. His gaze naturally drifted toward Dorothy as he chewed.

  “I would be interested in the parts of the building that are still arranged like the old, royal residence as well,” Evangeline went on. When she saw Marshall was distracted, she followed his line of sight. Whether she noticed whom specifically he was looking at or not, a knowing grin spread across her pretty face and she turned back to Asher. “We only have three weeks in Paris before heading on to Italy. We might as well take in as many of the sights as we can as quickly as we can.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, sis,” Asher said.

  If their conversation continued, Marshall didn’t hear any of it. He ate his sandwich and watched Dorothy, arguing with himself about marrying her. Although it wasn’t much of an argument. He expected the roguish part of him to protest and to urge him to make more hay while the sun continued to shine, but the newly sensible part of him won out easily. If making things right with the woman he’d wronged in such an enjoyable way the night before meant that he could spend the rest of his life getting to know her better and making up for his callousness, that might not be the end of the world.

  “It’s a shame that we didn’t bring any croquet sets with us,” one of Asher’s female cousins whom Marshall hadn’t been introduced to yet said as the meal wore on. “It’s a perfect day for it.”

  “It’s an even greater shame that we didn’t bring cricket equipment,” one of the male cousins laughed. “It’s an even better day for that.”

  “We could make our own croquet set,” one of the ladies said, leaping up and climbing over the others near the center of the pack in an effort to reach the grass. Marshall seemed to recall her name was Lady Roselyn Briarwood.

  “What do you mean?” the lady whose name Marshall didn’t know rose and followed her.

  “I mean, we can act as the wickets ourselves,” Lady Briarwood laughed. She followed that by striding out to a flatter part of the grass, stood with her legs apart, and lifted her skirt. “Voila.”

  The unnamed cousin laughed. “And what do you propose to use as a croquet ball?”

  Lady Briarwood bit her lip, then gestured to Dorothy and Damien’s blanket. “Is that wine bottle empty?”

  That was all it took. As soon as the hint of a suggestion was made, Damien jumped up, bringing the empty wine bottle from their blanket to the unnamed cousin. The rest of the cousins scrambled to join in as well, the ladies rushing out to join Lady Briarwood in lifting their skirts and playing the part of wickets while the men snatched up wine bottles, emptying them down their throats if they weren’t already empty, and jogging them over to the ladies.

  They had only started attempting to roll the bottles through the grass and between the ladies’ legs when Miss Sewett rose and huffed, “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

  “Oh, Lord,” Asher sighed on the blanket beside Marshall, shaking his head. “Here we go.”

  “It is scandalously inappropriate for young women of your caliber to go lifting their skirts in public,” Miss Sewett railed, stepping over discarded bits of picnic to reach the grass. “This is the Parisian countryside, not Seven Dials.”

  “We’re only having fun, Miss Sewett,” Lady Briarwood laughed.

  “You more than anyone should know how inappropriate this is, my lady,” Miss Sewett raged on.

  “Don’t you mean Miss Roselyn?” one of the female cousins asked.

  “It is not appropriate…widowed countesses should be addressed as…you must listen to me and get these things right,” Miss Sewett shouted.

  Her outburst was met by a flurry of giggles from the schoolchildren being escorted by the nuns. They had reached the edge of the riverbank near the McGovern picnic site and were watching the attempts at creating a human croquet set with interest.

  Miss Sewett, however, wasn’t pleased. “Get away from here, you vermin,” she shrieked, marching away from the mischievous cousins and racing toward the children as though they were pins and she was on a mission to knock them down. “Shoo! Shoo! Get away from your betters.”

  The children stopped laughing and squealed as they ran toward their nun guardians. At the same time, Dorothy leapt up from her blanket and charged after Miss Sewett a deep scowl on her face.

  “What are you doing, Miss Sewett?” she called as she approached. “They are just children and they aren’t hurting anyone.” She tore past Miss Sewett, speeding toward the children and saying, “Chers enfants, je suis vraiment désolé que la mauvaise femme vous ait effrayé.”

  Marshall’s brow fl
ew up and his heart caught in his throat as Dorothy continued to speak in fluent French to the children and the nuns, making her apologies and praising each of the children for being brave and charming. But of course she would speak perfect French. Of course she would be wonderful with children. She was gracious with the nuns as well, and within minutes, the whole pile of them were herded up to the blankets and treated to every one of the desserts and sweets that they’d brought with their picnic.

  “That settles it,” Sebastian said from his side, laughter in his voice.

  Marshall whipped to face him, brow knit in confusion.

  Sebastian laughed outright. “I think you have to marry her now. You’re besotted. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Marshall squirmed slightly, using the uneasy motion to propel himself to stand. “Neither did I,” he murmured, tugged at the hem of his jacket, then started off across the lawn to where Dorothy stood handing out strawberry tarts to the children. As soon as he could get her alone, he’d make his offer and begin planning his future.

  All through the picnic, Dorothy was highly aware of Marshall watching her. That voice in her head still told her she should be furious with him to the point of bringing the law down on him for assault. But the rest of her continued to sigh and quiver over the way he’d made her feel. The intensity of his stare throughout the family walk and picnic only intensified those feelings. A second voice had joined the first, one that urged her to seek out a repeat of the night before.

  So when he stood and strode toward her as she handed over her share and then some of the delicious tarts the palace cook had sent with them for dessert, her knees began to feel like the soft custard she was handing out.

  “Miss McGovern, might I speak with you for a moment?” he asked, coming to a stop about three yards from her. He stood stiff and straight with his hands clasped behind his back, looking every inch the handsome and powerful duke.