Kiss Me, Duke: League of Unweddable Gentlemen, Book 5 Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Only an Earl Will Do

  Chapter 1

  Lords of London series available now!

  Kiss the Wallflower series available now!

  Also by Tamara Gill

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Kiss Me, Duke

  League of Unweddable Gentlemen, Book 5

  Copyright © 2020 by Tamara Gill

  Cover Art by Wicked Smart Designs

  Editor Grace Bradley Editing

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.

  Dedication

  For everyone who's missing traveling this year, may we soon be able to explore this wonderful world again.

  Chapter 1

  Rome Italy, 1829

  They had arrived. Finally. Molly stepped out of the carriage and stretched, basked in the warm Mediterranean sun that warmed her blood and healed the many aches and pains from weeks of travel. Rome. Just the thought of where she was sent a thrill down her spine and expectation thrumming through her blood.

  So many wonderful places to visit and see, and thanks to her wonderful friends back in London, and the Duke of Whitstone, month-long lodgings at the Villa Maius had been secured for her. The gentleman who resided here was from home, but his servants would care for her and her companion for the short time they would be in the city.

  The front door to the villa opened, and a gray-haired, voluptuous woman came out onto the street, her smile as warm as the sun shining down on her back.

  “Signora, Molly Clare, welcome. Welcome to Rome. Come, we shall serve refreshments for you. You must be exhausted.”

  Molly smiled, relieved to be welcomed so lovingly at the home. She did not know anything of Mr. Farley, who lived here, other than he was friends with the Duke of Whitstone. There had always been a little niggling concern within her that the staff may be annoyed at her arrival, being unknown to them as she was, but it would not seem to be so.

  “Thank you for having me. I hope it is not too much trouble that I’m here.” She walked in off the street into a small foyer that led onto a large, rectangular room partly roofed. A fountain sat in its center, a naked cherub squirting water from his mouth. Looking up, Molly noted the opening in the roof sat directly over the fountain, and in ancient times, it would be the place the villa would have collected its water for the family.

  “Oh, no no no. We’re very happy to have you here.” The servant ordered a tall, dark-haired man to attend to the luggage while she walked them toward a set of stairs. “Mr. Armstrong is not here. He is away in Naples for the duration of your stay, and we have been expecting you. He informed us all before he left last month to care for you well. You have mutual friends, yes?”

  Molly looked about the villa. Mosaic-tiled floors adorned the space, images of Roman life, of agricultural scenes and animals. All lower-floor rooms had their windows open, the curtains billowing with the warm, Mediterranean air. The breeze smelled of salt and spices, of oranges and freshly cut grass. She stopped a moment, taking in the view from one of the windows she could see through a doorway. The courtyard garden, full of olive trees, beckoned her to sit and savor its beauty.

  “We do, yes. The Duke of Whitstone. Although I have never met Mr. Armstrong, I am very grateful to him for allowing me to stay here.”

  The housekeeper beamed, seemingly well pleased at her compliment of her employer. “He is the best of men whom I’m sorry you shall not have the honor of meeting.” The woman started up the stone stairs. “I’m Maria, my dear, the housekeeper of Villa Maius. Should you need anything at all, merely let me know, and I shall do all that I can to make your stay enjoyable.”

  “Thank you.” They climbed the stairs, the second floor opened up to a large, rectangular room with reclining wicker chairs. A balcony stood at the end of the room. Molly could not pass without taking in the view. She stepped out onto the balcony, the breath catching in her lungs. The view overlooked the street they had entered on. At this height, it gave her a better vantage point of the city beyond. Rome. Its glory spread out before her like a gift from the gods. Her fingers curled around the stone balustrade, anchoring herself so she would not run from the villa and see firsthand the ancient city. Sounds wafted up to tease her and urge her to leave and explore.

  Soon, she promised. As soon as she had bathed and had a restoring cup of tea.

  “The center of Rome is only a short walk from here. At the other end of the villa is another room similar to this that overlooks the river Tiber. I can always have the carriage put at your disposal, however, if you do not want to walk. To see the Vatican, you shall have to avail yourself of the vehicle.”

  Excitement thrummed through her veins, and she leaned out over the railing, spying a few people out on the streets, some taking in the sights while others plied their trade. “What a magnificent city. I have always wanted to tour, and now I can. I cannot believe it.”

  “I am dreading the return journey, however,” her companion, Miss Sinclair said, joining her and staring down at the city with a disgruntled air. “Shall we have tea?”

  Molly was reluctant to leave the magnificent view, one she longed to be part of, and nor would she allow Miss Sinclair’s dislike of the distances they had traversed to dampen her excitement. If her companion did not wish to see Rome, she could stay here at the villa. Molly went about London most of the time on her own, it would not be out of character for her.

  “Yes, let’s, and then I can get started on exploring this wonderful city.”

  “Would you like to have tea on the balcony, Signora Molly?”

  “Thank you, yes,” she replied, seeing the outdoor setting and sitting. Servants bustled about the home, bringing up their trunks to the rooms. Molly could almost pinch herself just to confirm that she was indeed here in Rome. Her time was precious, only a month, and then they would be on the return journey back to England. Travel would take several weeks, and she wanted to visit some other cities on the continent before returning to London and the new Season.

  The tea was sweet and refreshing, and lovingly the housekeeper had made some biscuits with almonds through them, which squelched her rumbling stomach.

  Molly leaned back in her chair, placing down her napkin, well-sated after the fleeting repast. “Shall we finish the tour of the house, see our rooms and then decide where to go first?”

  “Of course, Miss Molly,” Miss Sinclair said, yawning.

&n
bsp; It had been a long day, but Molly was too excited, had waited too long to be in Rome to lie down for the afternoon. She wanted to explore, walk the streets, visit the markets, and be part of the culture here in this ancient city.

  “If you’re tired, Miss Sinclair, I can always go out without you. I do not mind.”

  Miss Sinclair’s lips pursed into a disapproving, thin line. “No, that would never do. You need to have a chaperone and company to keep you safe. I will simply have to endure it.”

  “I do not wish for you to endure Rome. I want you to enjoy it as much as I intend on doing.”

  “I do not believe that will be possible, Miss Molly. I have an aversion to heat, and if it did not escape your notice, it is very hot outside.”

  Molly turned toward the balcony, the slight breeze wafting in through the doors cooled her skin. Yes it was warm, but England was always so very cold. How could anyone not make use of such beautiful weather and explore it?

  The housekeeper stepped forward, catching Molly’s eye. “We have a manservant here, Miss Clare. He would be more than happy to escort you about Rome so you may see some of our wonderful city.”

  Molly smiled at Miss Sinclair. “See, I shall be perfectly safe. You may have this afternoon to rest and recuperate, and we shall come together for dinner this evening before tonight’s ball.”

  “You intend to attend Lord and Lady Dalton’s ball this evening? Even though we only arrived today?”

  “Of course I intend to go.” Molly shook her head at her companion, having gained the sense that she did not want to go or do anything while they were here. The prospect was not helpful, nor would it be possible. Molly had four weeks to visit this wonderful city, and she would simply have to ignore her companion’s complaints about seeing everything they could in that time.

  “Maria, will you show me to my room, please?”

  The housekeeper bustled down a wide passageway until she came to a room that overlooked more of the villa grounds, lawns, and gardens that swam with a variety of colors. The tinkling sound of water carried up to her, and she looked for the fountain but could not see it from her room. She would have to go downstairs to find it herself.

  Her room was a tiled mosaic floor that was made out in a variety of blossoming flowers. Her bed was large, opulent with its coverlet and abundance of pillows. She, too, was partial to lots of pillows on beds. It somehow made them look complete. Perfect.

  A small writing desk occupied the space before one window, and a large settee sat before her fire. Although she did not believe she would need that at all while she was here in Rome. Not with it being so warm.

  “There is freshwater and linens behind the screen for you, Miss Molly. When you’re ready to go out, come downstairs, and I shall fetch Marcus for you. He will keep you safe and show you all the best sites Rome has on offer.”

  “Thank you so much. I cannot tell you how thrilled I am about being here.”

  The housekeeper smiled before leaving her to her ablutions, the sound of Miss Sinclair’s voice as she was taken to her room echoing down the hall.

  Molly walked to the small balcony her room had and glanced down at the garden. She raised her face to the sun, breathing deep. What an idyllic location to live. One could get used to such a place and never return home to rainy, dreary old London.

  Chapter 2

  He wasn’t supposed to be in Rome. He’d promised his close friend the Duke of Whitstone that he would leave Miss Molly Clare alone for the month she was visiting the ancient city. But he could not. Not because he wished to meet the chit—he’d long thrown away any notion of making a grand match or even trying to court a lady.

  Business brought him back to Rome a month earlier than planned. A letter from his brother’s steward in London never bode well. What had his brother done now that was so very bad that the black sheep of the family had to be notified?

  Lord Hugh Farley, younger brother to the Duke of St. Albans, pushed through the small door off the street that led into his Roman villa and strode through the gardens, headed for his office. He waved to a couple of his staff who were picking vegetables, ignoring the fact they looked a little shocked at his return. His housekeeper Maria doubly so when he strode into the atrium.

  “I shall have lunch brought into my office, please, Maria.” He half-laughed at the woman’s expression. “Do not look so shocked at my being here. I do live here as you well know.”

  The housekeeper made an awkward chuckle before following close on his heels. “You have Miss Molly Clare here, Signore Hugh. Do you not remember she is to stay a month?”

  “I have not forgot, but I received a letter from my brother’s steward that I must attend to.” His man of business in Rome had sent word to him, telling him to return from Naples as soon as possible. It was unfortunate that Miss Clare was here at the same time as he, but this was his home, and she had a companion, it would not be too scandalous, surely.

  “I do not intend to ruin her, Maria. Do amend your distress.”

  Another awkward laugh from his housekeeper rent loudly in the room. Hugh glanced up at her, not missing that she was now wringing her hands in her apron. “You disapprove.”

  “She’s unmarried, Signore. You, too, remain unmarried. We could weather any storm of her being here when you were not at home, but now that you are, tongues will wag. Whether those tongues are in Rome or London.”

  “Let them wag. I have business to attend to, and she has a companion. There is little we can do about it. I shall not allow society to rule my life.” God knows he’d allowed enough of that in London along with his family. The thought of his brother, his mother, soured the taste in his mouth. He picked up his penknife and sliced open the missive.

  “Lunch, Maria. If you please.”

  As if remembering herself, she bobbed a quick curtsy and left the room. Hugh opened the parchment and read. His blood ran cold at the black, cursive words that lay out before his eyes.

  His Grace, the Duke of St. Albans, had passed away after a carriage accident. We here inform Lord Hugh Farley that you are now the Duke of St. Albans, heir to St. Albans Abbey in Kent, Brentwood House in Surrey. and Clare Castle in Ireland.

  The rest of the missive blurred at the thought of his brother no longer living. This letter was already a month old. Hugh leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the wall before him.

  It could not be.

  Henry was dead? His only brother. Another letter sat on his desk, the neat, flowing script that of his younger sister, Sarah. He tore it open, not bothering with the penknife. She was less diplomatic, having never been very good at making her words less blunt and to the point. Her letter contained details about their brother’s demise, of his foolhardy bet with the gentleman who formed his London set. They had planned to race a curricle from London to Southampton, and Henry had overturned the vehicle, killing himself instantly. She implored him to return to London post-haste and take up the position as the Duke of St. Albans.

  Hugh scrunched up the letter, throwing it onto his desk. London could go hang. The fickle ton may very well forgive him the scandal that dogged his every move in that city, but he would never forgive London.

  The bastards.

  The amused, excited voice of a woman flittered downstairs before the boots on his staircase echoed in the foyer. From where Hugh sat, he could see who came and went in the atrium outside his tablinum. In the past ten years that he’d lived in Rome, he realized that there had never been a woman under this roof, save the servants of course.

  He watched the threshold of his door, wanting to see what this Miss Molly Clare looked like. His friend, The Duke of Whitstone, one of only a few he had left in the world, had written to him asking for assistance in housing Miss Clare. He could not refuse.

  Every year, Hugh traveled to Naples to his vineyard there, so there were no problems offering his Roman villa while he moved to his estate in the country.

  A woman in an azure-colored dress stepped into his li
ne of sight, and the breath in his lungs seized. She wasn’t a young woman as he thought she may be, but a woman, her figure filling out her day gown in the most promising way.

  Her hair was inky black and tied up into a motif of loose curls, some of which had already fallen out and bounced about her slender shoulders. A bonnet hung from her wrist from a vivid-blue ribbon, and a pelisse lay over her arm. Everything about her embodied what he had left behind in London. Had he stayed in England, he could now be married to a woman as appealing as Miss Clare. Had a family, children playing about his hessian boots. A pang of nostalgia thrummed through him over everything that he had lost by leaving London to live in Rome.

  By following the rules and doing what he was told.

  Not that it was his fault that he had to come away, his brother Henry had ordered him to take the fall for his wayward actions. Hugh had refused of course, until both his mother and brother had told him his ruin was done. That the ton would not accept him from that moment onward. His choice was clear, leave England or face being cut off socially and financially.

  A younger son of a duke, he had money, of course, but not enough that would keep him for long. He had not studied law or the church as one might to live. A stupid mistake.

  With nowhere else to turn, he had made some demands of his own. His brother would fund his living here in Rome. Purchase him a villa and house in Naples, a locale he had enjoyed when on the grand tour only two years before. A small price for his brother to pay since Hugh was the one losing everything, and his family.