Dare to Be a Duchess Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Get Scandalous with these historical reads… The Rakehell of Roth

  The Spinster and the Rake

  Her Wicked Marquess

  The Price of Temptation

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Sapna Bhog. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  [email protected]

  Scandalous is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Heather Howland

  Cover design by Bree Archer

  Cover photography by The Killion Group images

  PeopleImages/GettyImages

  Unholy Vault Designs/Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-64937-019-8

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition February 2021

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  For Romel, you gave me my wings.

  Chapter One

  1823, London

  Madame Delacour’s masquerade

  Red. The color was everywhere.

  Lara Ramsay fidgeted where she stood just inside the entrance of the great Hall, surveying the scene inside one of London’s most scandalous ballrooms. Each place her eyes touched in the enormous room, she saw it. Heavy, red brocade silk curtains, red table covers, red upholstery, red silks covering the walls…even the candles were red.

  “So this is what true sin looks like,” she murmured.

  Skimpily dressed Cleopatras, nymphs, mermaids, and a variety of Greek goddesses dotted the hall alongside pirates, Roman gods, and knights from yonder years. It would have been fascinating to observe had it not been for the complete lack of propriety.

  Her gaze landed on a pirate and peasant girl kissing…on the mouth…in the middle of the dance floor. And then they retired into an alcove beyond them, leaving the curtain wide open for anyone to peek in. Lara smothered a gasp as the man lowered the woman’s bodice and put his lips to her—

  Her friend, Anne, made a soft sound of distress. “Did you see that? The excuse of this masquerade has caused everyone to leave all inhibitions behind!”

  Leaving inhibitions behind was definitely not something Anne was accustomed to. Blond and blue eyed, Anne was the perfect English beauty, and not just in appearance. Her inbred grace and poise showed her station in life. She was the daughter of a duke, the sister of a duke, and her regal bearing declared it so.

  That same regal bearing was sure to draw unwanted attention to them if they weren’t careful.

  Lara touched her glittering black mask, making certain that it correctly covered her face. She absolutely did not wish to be recognized under any circumstance. “I hate to admit it, but we were rightly warned from coming here.”

  This was not the place for gently bred women like them. Although she and Anne had attended several racy soirees in the last few days, none of them had been as debauched as this. Here, the women were mingling and dancing freely with the men, most of them already deep in their cups, further adding to the gaiety of the place.

  It didn’t help that she and Anne hadn’t dressed to blend in. When Lara had decided to don a nine yard Indian saree for this masquerade, aching to be styled in a costume that would reflect her Indian heritage, Anne had insisted that she, too, wear one in a show of solidarity. So here they were, each wearing a specially designed corset blouse, bare on the shoulders and upper back. The corsets were paired with a thin petticoat over which nine yards of silk was wrapped, pleated at the waist, and then draped across their upper bodies to one shoulder. The fabric cascaded to the floor like a waterfall, leaving a trail on the floor. While Lara wore a shimmering black saree with a glittering black mask, Anne had chosen a white ensemble.

  The idea had seemed fascinating at the time, and Lara loved that her friend had joined in her fun, but right now they stood out like a beacon in this scandalous party. Added to the fact that they had no male company, they were definitely beginning to draw appreciative male gazes.

  Sure enough, a drunk Hercules was circling round them, edging closer.

  “We can’t stay here any longer, Anne. We must leave before we get into any trouble. All those alcoves around the perimeter…people are making use of them to…to indulge in…in…” She gestured discreetly around the room. “Besides, we are attracting far too much notice standing alone by ourselves.”

  The drunk Hercules tried to seek her attention, but Lara gave him a frosty look.

  Anne bit her lip, scanning the room as if she were looking for somebody.

  Understanding washed through Lara. “He’ll be here, won’t he? That’s why you were so desperate to attend?”

  Anne gave a shy nod. She was head over heels in love with Richard Leyton, the new Earl of Radmore, a social recluse in the eyes of London, who they had met on one of their first nights out of the ton’s usual social circle.

  After Radmore had rescued Anne from an ill-placed wager that she had made with another gentleman, she was convinced he was the man for her. She and Lara had whispered and giggled together for hours after that night, imagining what a future with Radmore might hold for Anne. Their cheeks had positively hurt from all the grinning.

  Since Radmore never socialized within the ton, Anne had kept up with him at various events outside the usual boundaries. Yet, in spite of it all, the man had yet to make his interest in her evident.

  Lara squeezed Anne’s hand. “Are you sure he’s interested?” she asked in a careful tone.

  “I’m certain.”

  She studied her friend, felt the hope in Anne’s blue eyes. “All right,” she relented, “but we can’t stay here for much longer.”

  Anne gave her a pleading look. “I must wait for h
im, however long it takes.”

  Lara risked a quick look around the room. “It’s not safe to linger. This place is worse than what Cammy described to us.”

  Camille Chesterfield was the third member of their trio. She’d been the one to discover this masquerade and told Lara and Anne. The plan had been for the three of them to attend together, but Cammy had taken ill. Reluctantly—or so Lara thought until Anne revealed her plan—they had decided to attend without her.

  Cammy had warned them to be discreet and to keep their identities hidden at all times, else their reputations would be destroyed. Worse, they’d incur the wrath of Wolf, Anne’s very protective elder brother, the very proper and very staid Duke of Wolverton.

  Lara shivered at the thought. Wolf was a formidable man, very conventional and usually quite full of himself. He had pretty fixed ideals on how proper ladies ought to comport themselves. Normally, crossing swords with him and thwarting whatever he said was a pet pastime of Lara’s, but tonight she truly worried over his reaction if he found out that they were here—and why. She wouldn’t stand for him bullying Anne, brother or not.

  Chewing on her lip, she pondered her dilemma. Anne was in no mood to be convinced, and Lara’s instincts were buzzing with the threat of imminent danger.

  They needed to leave.

  She again gestured to the alcoves with her gloved hand. “Look around, Anne. Look at what people are doing. This is no place to meet Radmore.”

  “But it is, Lara, and that’s why I have to be here!”

  Lara’s eyes widened. Anne wanted to remain here because of what the couples were doing in the alcove? Did Anne…indulge like that with Radmore? She itched to ask her dearest friend this question, but not yet. Right now, they needed to leave.

  “Anne,” she implored as more men circled them. “I don’t have a good feeling about this at all. Please…let us just go.”

  Anne scanned the crowd again. “I cannot. I sent a missive to Radmore that I’m attending this event tonight. Although he didn’t respond, I’m certain that if he feels even the slightest bit of the attraction I feel for him, he’ll be here, for nothing else but to protect me from the happenings at this corrupt ball.”

  So, this was a test of his affection? “But what if he doesn’t come?”

  Her friend shot her a dark look. “He will.”

  Lara sighed. “What if Wolf finds out?”

  Anne waved her hand in the air. “My brother doesn’t know we attended all those other soirees, which we were never to set foot in. Why do you think he’ll find out about this one?”

  Because Wolf was unpredictable, powerful, and often seemed to know everything—not that she’d ever admit that to his arrogant face. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she imagined all the potential consequences they’d face if he did manage to find them here.

  She straightened her spine, annoyed with herself. Why did she always get perturbed thinking of him? He would be angry, yes, but he and Lara had sparred since the day she’d arrived in London as a child. She, of anyone, could handle the Duke of Wolverton.

  She lifted her chin. Ill-advised or not, she would not let Wolf take this away from Anne. Or herself. Radmore aside, attending events like these was Lara’s own little rebellion against the snobs of the ton who had made her life a living hell all these years.

  Filthy half breed!

  Indian savage blood!

  You don’t belong among us!

  You will never be a part of us!

  Look at her skin—so, so brown!

  An Indian girl sitting amongst us—what has the world come to?

  These were just some of the barbs she’d lived with since her parents’ deaths and Uncle Robert had taken her in as his ward. Uncle Robert was Wolf’s and Anne’s late father’s younger brother. The Wolverton name should have afforded her a sense of security, but despite growing up with Anne, Lara was treated with sharp jibes and a whole lot of scorn because she’d been born in India, the child of an English colonel and an Indian woman.

  If only the people in the ton knew which family her father had belonged to… But no, Lara refused to acknowledge that part of her lineage. Not now. Not ever.

  And thus, she continued to suffer their cruel words and taunts.

  Her temper flared thinking about the mockery and rejection she had faced from the same people over and over again, all because she was different.

  She inhaled and exhaled to steady her frazzled nerves. She was tired of being alone and of not being accepted because of who her parents were. Yes, she had Anne and Camille, who would do anything for her, but the reality was they both would find the right match, marry someone from the ton, and settle down soon.

  Although Uncle Robert believed that Lara, too, would find someone special who would accept her as she was, so far there was not one man in the ton who appealed to her and who didn’t look at her like she was an outcast. Hence, she had decided to step out of the boundaries of the ton to find the right man. Rich or poor, she cared not—she only wanted someone to love her for her.

  But it was Anne who had found someone, although said man hadn’t yet made his intentions clear.

  Lara studied her friend, who was still searching the hall for her chosen man.

  “Are you absolutely certain of his attraction to you?” she asked, not entirely convinced.

  “Yes,” Anne replied, her eyes never once leaving the crowd.

  There was no point arguing with Anne when she’d made up her mind, and when it came to Radmore, she was immovable in her faith that he was her one true soul mate. Lara genuinely hoped he was. Which was why she decided to give her friend a few minutes more before she physically maneuvered them out the door.

  There was a rustling in the doorway, and suddenly a stream of new entrants entered from behind where they were standing. Lara was swept to one side, and she immediately lost sight of Anne. Heart pounding, she spun around to look for her and found the drunk Hercules she had dismissed earlier coming toward her again.

  And this time, he had a friend with him.

  Chapter Two

  Tristan Wentworth, the Duke of Wolverton—Wolf to his friends—leaned casually against one of the tall columns in the overly crowded, overly raucous, completely scandalous ballroom. He kept his expression behind his black domino mask calm, showing none of the blatant fury that was raging within him. If his sister and her friend had indeed visited this debauched place, he would lock them up inside the house. Forever.

  Having eschewed the ballrooms of the ton entirely for several years, Wolf couldn’t remember the last time he’d attended a masquerade. And that it was this particular one he was forced to attend was stoking the flames of his simmering anger.

  Scarlett Delacour was known for hosting the most disreputable parties, and he had no interest, none whatsoever, in participating in the events that unfolded here. He didn’t need the false sense of anonymity that such gatherings provided to seek out women.

  He was only there because he’d received an urgent missive from his friend Leo, the Marquis of St. Leon, that Anne and Lara were present. Leo was one of his closest friends, and he implicitly trusted him to keep an eye on the girls until Wolf could find them in this mad crush.

  He adjusted the mask on his face, thankful for it and the hooded cape he had donned to hide his identity. Not that anyone here was interested in who anyone else was. However, one never suffered from being cautious because one thing he did not do was play with his family’s reputation. If anyone found out the Duke of Wolverton was in attendance, as was his unmarried sister, there would be a scandal bigger than the one that already marred the Wolverton family name.

  He continued scanning the crowd, his steel gray eyes carefully searching, pausing briefly on each of the women present, trying to recognize them behind their masks. So far, Wolf hadn’t sighted Leo or either of the girls. But he had seen
enough of this place that he wanted to find Anne and Lara and get them out as soon as possible.

  This late into the night, the festivities around him had reached their peak, the men and women mingling freely and physically. Several ladies had already approached him. Dressed in outrageous costumes with their faces behind gleaming masks and their bosoms displayed to attract attention, they had flirted blatantly. He sent each one away with a severe look, not bothering to speak words to any.

  Frustrated, he reached for his fob watch and checked the time. It was past midnight, and he’d yet to spot Anne and Lara. Could Leo have been mistaken? He scanned the crowd again for any sign of a duo of women together but found none.

  His gaze snagged at the entrance, and he frowned. There was a woman standing there surveying the crowd. A beautiful black mask adorned with black feathers at the corners covered her eyes and the upper half of her face. Her outfit was…different. Striking black silk draped across her curves, pleated at the waist, and flowed over a shoulder. She looked stunning. The bare skin on her shoulders and arms glowed golden in the pale candlelight, and his mouth watered. The effect of the black-feathered mask with her pitch-black hair, her golden skin, and that gorgeous black ensemble was breathtaking.

  No woman had held his interest in a long while, but this one intrigued him. She raised a gloved hand to her hair and pushed aside a long strand that had fallen on her face. He found his lips curving into a slight smile as the strand refused to stay behind and fell on her face again. The woman again raised her hand to push the strand back, and when it didn’t comply, she shook her head, her chest heaving.

  She gracefully glided farther into the room, looking around. Her chin was tilted at a haughty angle, and her pink lips were set in a slight smile as if none of the scene in front of her impressed her in the least.

  Wolf frowned. That subtle arrogance she portrayed was vaguely familiar. Did he know her?

  No matter the case, she was stunning. He was tempted to make her acquaintance and find out if those pink lips of hers were as sensuous as they looked, but tonight he couldn’t. All he could do was spend a few moments watching her until he searched for his quarry again.