Daring to Love the Duke's Heir Read online

  She’s totally unsuitable...

  ...to be his duchess!

  Part of The Beauchamp Heirs: Dominic Beauchamp, Lord Avon, is a powerful duke’s heir and it’s his duty to marry well. His bride must have impeccable breeding, manners and grace. But can anyone meet his exacting standards? Certainly not the irrepressible Liberty Lovejoy, who’s been thrust into society after years of being a provincial nobody. She’s too bold, too bubbly...so why is she the only lady he’s thinking about?

  “Do you not have a partner for this dance, my lord?”

  “No. I do not care to dance every dance. What about you?”

  “Alas, no gentleman requested my hand for this dance.” Liberty’s full lips pursed slightly, then twitched into a half smile. “But I am engaged for a waltz after supper and I am looking forward to that exceedingly.”

  “In order that you may tear me off another couple of strips?”

  “Avon! That is most ungentlemanly of you.” Her eyes sparkled, drawing him in, and it was with an effort he tore his gaze from hers, blanked his expression and cast a bored look over the dancers. “You did admit I was sorely provoked.”

  He couldn’t resist another sideways glance at her, a glance that revealed twinkling eyes above pouting lips that drew his gaze like a magnet. Good grief. They were in a crowded ballroom and all he could think about was sweeping her into his arms and kissing her. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck as his inner voice of caution screamed at him to walk away. But still he lingered.

  Author Note

  When I decided to continue the story of the Beauchamp family with the three children of Leo, the Duke of Cheriton, I wasn’t sure what to make of his eldest son, Dominic, Lord Avon. He’s always (as he says himself) been the responsible one and in previous novels he has come across as pretty conventional—even a little stuffy in comparison to his younger siblings, Alexander and Olivia. In essence, he was the perfect duke’s heir.

  Then, in Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake, Leo said something that stayed with me—

  “...if there is one thing I have learned it is this. We cannot dictate where love will find us but, when it does, we must grab it with both hands... I now find myself watching Avon with some trepidation. I almost expect him to turn up with an actress upon his arm.”

  —and Liberty Lovejoy popped into my head. Of course, she’s not an actress but, with a name like that, she could be!

  So, we move on five years from the events in

  Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake and Dominic has decided it is time to find the perfect bride—a lady with impeccable breeding, the correct upbringing and immaculate conduct suitable for the heir of a wealthy and powerful duke. He even writes a list.

  I hope you enjoy Dominic’s battle to follow his head rather than his heart when the totally unsuitable Miss Liberty Lovejoy erupts into his life.

  JANICE PRESTON

  Daring to Love

  the Duke’s Heir

  Janice Preston grew up in Wembley, North London, with a love of reading, writing stories and animals. In the past she has worked as a farmer, a police call handler and a university administrator. She now lives in the West Midlands with her husband and two cats and has a part-time job with a weight-management counselor—vainly trying to control her own weight despite her love of chocolate!

  Books by Janice Preston

  Harlequin Historical

  Mary and the Marquis

  From Wallflower to Countess

  Regency Christmas Wishes

  “Awakening His Sleeping Beauty”

  The Lochmore Legacy

  His Convenient Highland Wedding

  The Beauchamp Heirs

  Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake

  Daring to Love the Duke’s Heir

  The Beauchamp Betrothals

  Cinderella and the Duke

  Scandal and Miss Markham

  Lady Cecily and the Mysterious Mr. Gray

  The Governess Tales

  The Governess’s Secret Baby

  Men About Town

  Return of Scandal’s Son

  Saved by Scandal’s Heir

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

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  To Lynn.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  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

  Excerpt from The Highborn Housekeeper by Sarah Mallory

  Chapter One

  March 1817

  Raindrops rattled on the roof of the carriage that carried Miss Liberty Lovejoy and her sister Hope through the dark, slick streets of a rain-drenched London.

  ‘Liberty. I beg you...please do not do this. Gideon will never forgive you.’

  Liberty wrenched her attention from the passing streets and resolutely swallowed down her own burgeoning doubt. She didn’t want to do this, but she had to. Someone must save Gideon from himself.

  ‘I have to do something, Hope. Gideon is running amok and it is all the fault of Lord Alexander Beauchamp. Gideon will be grateful to me for saving him from the results of his own folly. Eventually.’

  ‘Well, I do not think you are fair to embroil me without warning,’ said Hope tartly. ‘You said we were going to Hookham’s. I would never have agreed to accompany you if I knew you intended to visit Alexander’s father, of all people. He is a duke, Liberty. People like us do not just call upon a duke.’

  Hope’s reaction did not surprise Liberty—she had given up expecting support from either of her sisters when there was any unpleasantness to deal with. They had been so young when their parents had died within days of one another and they had come to rely on Liberty and her twin brother, Gideon—just nineteen at the time—to take charge. Uncle Eustace was worse than useless...far too selfish to stir himself, even though he had been appointed their guardian. It was no wonder her entire family took Liberty for granted.

  ‘If you are afraid to come in, you may remain in the carriage while I speak to the Duke. I cannot afford the luxury of fear.’ Oh, but how she wished she could order Bilk, their coachman, to turn the carriage around and drive back to their rented London house. ‘It is my responsibility as the eldest—’

  ‘You are the eldest by a mere five minutes, Liberty Louisa Lovejoy, and Gideon now happens to be an earl.’

  ‘His conduct is more reminiscent of an overgrown schoolboy than a peer of the realm,’ retorted Liberty.

  Since Liberty’s twin brother had unexpectedly acceded to the Earldom of Wendover last autumn his behaviour had grown increasingly exasperating. Was it really asking too much of him to help her to secure their sisters’ futures instead of careening around town and frittering his newfound prosperity o
n wine, cards and horses and in the pursuit of females who were no better than they should be? Besides, she missed Gideon and how they had worked together to ensure the survival of their family.

  ‘Well, I would say that being an earl makes him senior to you, do you not? Do not forget we are all reliant on his goodwill now if we do not wish to be banished back to Eversham with Uncle Eustace. I think it is very generous of Gideon to fund a Season for all three of us at the same time.’

  Liberty clenched her jaw. If Hope only knew how much persuasion it had taken for Gideon to agree to his sisters coming to London in the first place...left to himself, she had no doubt her twin would have been content for his sisters to remain hidden away at Eversham for ever while he lived the high life to which he now felt entitled.

  She stared out of the window, seeing neither the grey streets they passed nor the people hurrying along beneath their umbrellas, wrapped in coats and cloaks against the dreadful dark, cold and wet weather that had assailed the entire country for the past year. If it were not for Hope and Verity she would much prefer to still be at home, running the house for Uncle Eustace—her late mother’s unmarried brother who had always made his home with the Lovejoys—and living in quiet obscurity.

  But Hope and Verity, at one-and-twenty and nineteen respectively, deserved a chance to better themselves in life. After their parents’ deaths there had been neither opportunity nor funds for the younger Lovejoy sisters to even dream of a come out, not until the unexpected death of a distant cousin and his two sons in a house fire and Gideon’s sudden preferment.

  ‘And do not forget what Mrs Mount said.’ Hope’s words broke into Liberty’s train of thought. ‘It is bad etiquette to call on your social superiors before they have left their card with you.’

  Mrs Mount was the lady they had hired as duenna during their sojourn in London. The daughter of a viscount and now the widow of the younger son of an earl, she had many acquaintances within the ton and was thus perfectly placed to help steer the Lovejoy girls through the mysteries of polite society. Well, perfectly placed if Liberty chose to follow her advice. Which, in this instance, she did not.

  ‘It is a certainty that the Duke of Cheriton is never likely to leave his card for us,’ said Liberty, ‘so I do not see that I have any choice if I am to persuade him to control his son’s wild behaviour.’

  ‘I cannot believe that a duke will take kindly to a country squire’s daughter lecturing him on how he should control his son. Libby—it is not too late. Please, let us go home and I promise I will help you talk some sense into Gideon.’

  ‘But we have tried that, Hope, many times, and he ignores us. I fear his new status has gone to his head and that he will never be the same again.’

  She was not even certain she much liked the man her twin had become. He had become secretive and thoughtless, and the closeness that had bound the two of them together throughout their childhood now felt as though it hung by the most fragile of threads.

  It breaks my heart, this distance between us.

  Liberty slid one gloved hand inside her woollen cloak and pressed it to her upper chest, rubbing in a soothing, circular motion, but the familiar hollow ache remained, as it had for the five years since her childhood sweetheart, Bernard, died.

  Being back in London had resurrected those dreadful memories and, with them, the guilt. If only she hadn’t been so selfish by accepting the offer from her wealthy godmother to sponsor her through a London Season. If only she had stayed at home, Bernard and her parents might still be alive. At the very least she would have been able to say goodbye to her husband-to-be. A knot of disquiet had taken root in her stomach since their arrival in London...a nagging reminder of her selfishness and her failure.

  Well, she would not fail Gideon, or the girls. And if it meant calling on a duke unannounced, then so be it.

  In an unexpected gesture, Hope clasped Liberty’s hand.

  ‘You cannot protect all of us all the time, Liberty. Gideon is a grown man. I know you miss the old Gideon, but he will come to his senses, you’ll see.’

  ‘But what if he does not? What if I sit by and do nothing and he ends up destroying himself? And that’s quite apart from the damage his wild behaviour will do to you and Verity.’

  Their background would be hurdle enough without Gideon casting a deeper shadow over them. Papa had been a gentleman, but Mama had been the daughter of a coal merchant—that whiff of trade would be a difficult barrier to overcome, according to Mrs Mount.

  The carriage rocked to a halt.

  ‘This must be it,’ Hope said, her voice awed. ‘Goodness!’

  Liberty was momentarily distracted as thunder growled in the distance, a stark reminder of the most terrible day in her life—the day she had learned that not only both her beloved parents, but also Bernard, had succumbed to the outbreak of cholera that swept through their village while Liberty had been enjoying dress fittings in London in preparation for her debut. She had not even glimpsed the inside of a ballroom before receiving that urgent summons to return home.

  She thrust down the memory that still had the power to bring hot, stinging tears to her eyes and peered through the rain that streamed down the window. She gulped. This was Beauchamp House? It was huge. Magnificent. Intimidating. It was not a house, but a mansion. Stretching for five wide bays, it would swallow several houses such as their modest rented abode in Green Street. A new surge of doubt as to her plan swept over Liberty, but she had come this far and she wouldn’t allow herself to back away now. She gathered her courage, flung open the carriage door, grabbed her oilskin umbrella and, opening it, thrust it out of the door into the deluge. Lightning flickered and she braced herself for the next rumble of thunder. Was the storm getting closer? There were several seconds before the sound reached her ears—it sounded more distant than before and she released her pent-up breath. She gave herself no time for further qualms. Bilk handed her down and she hurried up the steps to the imposing front door of Beauchamp House, which remained firmly shut.

  She lifted the brass knocker—so highly polished it gleamed even in the unnatural yellowish-grey afternoon light—and let it fall. Then she waited, irritation clambering over any nerves she felt at facing such a powerful nobleman. What was taking so long? ‘Where—?’

  ‘Might I be of assistance?’

  She whipped around. A carriage was drawing away from the front of the house, presumably after depositing this man...her darting gaze settled on his face, half-shielded by his own umbrella, and she gasped, her stomach clenching with anger. She held fast to her courage and straightened her spine even though her knees quaked. This close, she was only too conscious of Lord Alexander Beauchamp’s daunting presence—his height and the width of his shoulders spoke of a powerful man.

  ‘I have come to speak to your father about your behaviour.’

  He stiffened, his dark brows slashed into a forbidding frown. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  As she opened her mouth, he held up his hand, palm forward, effectively silencing her. ‘Apart from the fact that you and I have never met, madam, I regret to inform you that the Duke is not in residence.’ He brushed past her to the door.

  ‘We may indeed never have met, my lord, but I know who you are.’ Liberty set her jaw. She’d recognise Lord Alexander Beauchamp anywhere, even though she’d only ever glimpsed him in the distance as he gaily led her brother astray. ‘The knocker is on the door.’ She summoned her very haughtiest tone. ‘That means the family is in residence.’

  ‘A member of the family, maybe, but that member is not my father. Now, if you will excuse me? You might relish being out in such weather, but I can assure you I do not.’ The door began to open. ‘I suggest you put your grievance into writing. If you have it delivered here it will be forwarded on to my father for his attention, you have my word.’

  The word of a rackety rakehell!

  The door op
ened fully to reveal a liveried footman.

  ‘Sorry, milord,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I was downstairs when I heard the knock.’

  ‘No need for apologies, William. This—’ Liberty stiffened, detecting the faint curl of his upper lip as His Lordship looked her up and down ‘—person wished to speak to my father. I have advised her to write to him.’

  He handed his dripping umbrella to the servant and strode into the hall. Despair spread its tentacles through Liberty, squeezing her lungs. Coming here to confront the Duke had been a risk, but at least she would have had an opportunity to use her powers of persuasion. A letter could be all too easily dismissed. It was true she had never met Alexander, but perhaps if he knew who she was...? If she could appeal to his better nature...?

  ‘Lord Alexander! Please!’ She tried to dodge around the footman, who foiled her attempts using His Lordship’s still-open umbrella. ‘Wait, I beg of you.’

  Once she succeeded in knocking aside that umbrella, she could see His Lordship had stopped and now faced her, a look of weary resignation on his face. Encouraged, she discarded her own umbrella on the doorstep and rushed towards him, darting around the still-protesting footman.

  ‘Please. May we talk? I am Gideon’s sister.’

  His brows snapped together, forming once again a dark slash across his forehead. ‘Gideon? Who is Gideon?’

  ‘Lord Wendover.’

  ‘You have my sympathy.’

  Liberty bridled. ‘If you think so little of him, why do you spend so much time together?’

  He looked beyond her. ‘William—take the lady’s coat and bonnet, if you please. Ask Mrs Himley to send wine and cakes to the drawing room, and find a maid to sit with us—’ He looked Liberty up and down before fixing his gaze on her face. The chill in his light-coloured eyes sent a shiver through her. ‘For propriety’s sake,’ he continued. ‘You might have no compunction about calling upon your social superiors not only uninvited but also unchaperoned, madam, but a man cannot be too careful.’