One Day my Duke will Come: The Wayward Woodvilles 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

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Don’t Miss Tamara’s Other Romance Series

  About the Author

  Copyright

  One Day my Duke will Come

  The Wayward Woodvilles, Book 5

  Copyright © 2022 by Tamara Gill

  Cover Art by Wicked Smart Designs

  Editor Grace Bradley Editing, LLC

  * * *

  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.

  Chapter

  One

  1809 Blackhaven Estate, Surrey

  Millie Woodville glared at the Duke of Romney's back as he strode from the drawing room at her sister's new home in Surrey. They were here for a week-long house party before they were to return to London to start the Season.

  Her parents, although, would not, having decided to return to Grafton to ensure their small estate continued to run smoothly. Not that they needed to be in London. With four of their five daughters married and matched very high in the peerage, her mama and papa were indeed well-situated.

  "Why do you dislike the duke so much?" Paris Smith, her best friend since they were old enough to crawl about and get near each other, asked her.

  Millie narrowed her eyes at the mere thought of the man. "He is so opinionated and correct all the time. Have you not heard him speak? He knows everything, you merely have to ask him, and he will tell you that fact himself."

  Paris chuckled, covering her mouth with her cup of tea before taking a sip. "He's deadly handsome, however, which does blunt the barb of his mouth a little. Do you not agree?"

  That was true, much to Millie's annoyance. The man with his dark hair that looked as soft as silk. He probably washed it daily. Dandy's tended to do that sort of thing.

  Not that she could call him a dandy, in truth. He was too masculine, rugged, and hard about the edges to be so soft. But it would annoy him should she call him that, and that was good enough.

  Aggravate the irritating man.

  Paris cleared her throat. "He seems to enjoy sparring with you a great deal, Millie. Do you think he does so merely to be near you, speak to you?"

  Millie scoffed. "I do not think so. I have given him no indication that I ever wanted to speak with him or hear his opinions. Even when he does give them ever so often." Like their discussion today on the Kiplingcotes Derby and whether or not that horse race is the oldest in England.

  Everyone knew it was, even though Romney seemed to think because they raced over farmland, tracks, and lanes, it was not the same as a real horse race such as The Royal Ascot.

  Such a snobbish, ducal thing to think.

  And how dare he believe that he knew which fashion magazines women read more than most. The man was chuckle-headed and needed to stop making a fool of himself.

  "Where has he gone, do you know?" Paris asked, looking at the door the duke had disappeared through.

  "To have another bath, I'm sure. He's always so very clean, and he wears gloves. Do you not think that curious?"

  "I think after smelling Mr. Thompson at last month's country dance in Grafton, hygiene should be the utmost priority for some men. I think it quite nice that His Grace smells so well."

  "Sandalwood with a hint of lily, I believe," Millie said without thought.

  Paris threw her a knowing look. Her lips twitched in amusement. "Have you made a study of it, Millie Woodville? Is there something more to your annoyance with His Grace that you're not telling your oldest and best friend?"

  Millie laughed, shaking her head. "Of course not. Nothing of the kind. As lovely as he is to look at, and I will be the first to admit that I believe his angelic features are striking, he's just so, so…vexing."

  "Well, at least after this house party, you will not have to have anything to do with him further," Paris said.

  "The week cannot come to an end soon enough." She clasped Paris's hands, squeezing them. "I'm so glad we're going to have a Season together and that Ashley has agreed to sponsor us both. We will have the best of times, and I will not be so nervous making my curtsy to the queen with you there."

  "I too." Paris smiled. "It'll be the best Season yet, and may we both find love."

  "Oh yes, that is the priority above anything else," Millie agreed. A love match as grand as her sisters had found. That is what she wanted, and nothing else would do.

  * * *

  Tatum Chance, Duke of Romney, slipped into the bath, the pain in his hip excruciating after his ride out on the Blackhaven Estate earlier this morning. He had wanted to see the ducal estate for some years, but the duke and his son had been estranged. It wasn’t until recently they had formed a truce, and the house and lands been opened up again to society.

  A duke also, he enjoyed seeing what advances in farming other estates employed. Not to mention he valued overlooking the tenant farming homes, all of which looked in good condition, clean and tidy. It was what he wanted for his estate and would use their methods in keeping ahead of maintenance if it worked, which it seemed to be doing here.

  His hip sent a sharp pain down his leg, and he massaged the joint, trying to alleviate the ache. The memory of why he was injured made his gut clench, and he pushed the recollection aside, not wanting to think of Eleanor or her unborn child.

  It was his fault for his current discomfort. At home, he often used a cane to help him get around. Here, however, at the Blackhaven Estate, he could not. Not without gaining interest from others as to what was wrong with him, and he needed to appear fit and healthy, not some lame excuse of a duke who could not keep the love of his betrothed and their unborn child.

  He certainly did not need to give Miss Millie Woodville any more excuses to hate him or poke fun at his abnormalities. What an obnoxious, knows-everything chit if ever he had met one. She had driven him to the point of distraction only an hour ago. The Kiplingcotes Derby being the oldest horse race in England indeed.

  The woman was absurd.

  He clasped the lily soap, scrubbing his hands and feet before letting the hot water soothe his aching bones. A bath always helped his soreness, and once finished, he would have a tisane and rest for the remainder of the day.

  The muffled sounds of guests going to and from their chambers floated into his room. A piano played somewhere in the house, and laughter rang out now and then.

  He had enjoyed his time here, seeing friends he had not sin
ce last Season, and it was good to see Howley happily settled with Miss Ashley Woodville. The sisters all, even the menacing one Millie, too beautiful for words.

  If only the little hellion knew when to stop arguing.

  How unlike she was to anyone he had ever met in the past. Eleanor never argued with him; for some time, he thought he had found the perfect bride to be his duchess. How wrong he had been. Women, he concluded the day he was humiliated in Gretna, were not to be trusted, even forthright ones like Miss Woodville.

  The door to his chamber burst open and feminine laughter that he knew as well as his own filled his room.

  "I'll change and meet you by the river," Miss Woodville yelled over her shoulder to her friend before closing the door of his room. Leaving them alone.

  Utterly alone.

  Tatum gained his wits and struggled to his feet, reaching over to a nearby chair that housed his towel.

  Miss Woodville gasped, and he cringed, knowing she had turned and had seen him. All of him. Every little naked part of him.

  "What are you doing bathing in my room?" she accused, her wide eyes taking him in but halting when her attention landed on his cock.

  "Your room?" he said, covering his dick with his hand and fumbling for his towel. "Are you sure this is your room, Miss Woodville, and you are not incorrect for the first time ever? I know it would be a novel thing for you to be mistaken, for you are always right, but there is a first time for everything."

  "Oh, you're so irritating. It would help if you left and," she gestured to his attire, or lack thereof, "you need to cover yourself and go."

  A point he was trying to achieve. Cover himself, that was. Leaving his room, he would not do. "This is my chamber." He stepped out of the bath, wrangling his towel about his hips and covering himself. He strode over to her if only to tower over the woman and intimidate her a little. Damn, she was pretty and alluring and righteous.

  She glanced about, and he saw the sickly shade of gray her countenance changed to the moment she realized her mistake. "Oh, dear. This is your room. I must go before I'm seen."

  She spun about and wrenched the door open, and both himself and Miss Woodville came face-to-face with Mr. and Mrs. Woodville along with Lord and Lady Bridges. They had traveled down from London, especially to support the Dowager Duchess of Blackhaven in her reappearance in society.

  Mrs. Woodville gasped and promptly fainted at Mr. Woodville's feet. Without checking on his wife, Mr. Woodville's gaze alternated from his to his daughter’s, clearly unable to fathom what was happening.

  "This is utterly innocent, and nothing untoward has occurred, I assure you, Mr. Woodville," Tatum said, holding out his hand when both Mr. Woodville and Lord Bridges took a menacing step toward him.

  "Papa, I entered the wrong room, that is all. I have not ruined myself."

  A pain-riddled moan came from the floor, and they looked to Mrs. Woodville, who was coming to her senses. "Oh, my daughter. My precious Millie is ruined," she mumbled before collapsing a second time.

  Lady Bridges bent down, helping Mrs. Woodville just as Lord Howley joined the fray and took in the scene.

  "What has happened?" Howley asked, pinning Tatum with his unnerving stare.

  "Miss Woodville entered my room believing it was hers as I was taking a bath. I have not touched one hair on her head. I promise you all," Tatum said again, hoping they believed him.

  "She's ruined. My darling, most beautiful girl, whom we all had such hopes for, is ruined," Mrs. Woodville cried into Lady Bridges' lap, who looked up at everyone, at a loss.

  "Mama, truly, I'm not ruined at all. See?" Millie said, holding out her arms. "I'm dressed, and you know a woman cannot be compromised with clothing on," she said.

  Tatum barked out a laugh at the absurdness of that quote. He would be more than happy to explain to Miss Woodville later that what she said was indeed inaccurate. A woman could most certainly be compromised while fully dressed, and the mocking glances of every gentleman present proved his point.

  "There is nothing for it. You've been caught in Romney's room, and he is naked, and you're an unmarried woman of a good family. You must marry," Mr. Woodville stated, his tone brooking no argument.

  "Marry," Tatum and Miss Woodville shouted in unison.

  The room spun, and his life flashed before his eyes. This could not be happening was his last thought before his vision went blissfully black, and the crack of his head hitting the floor was the last thing he heard.

  Chapter

  Two

  Millie heard the thump behind her and turned to see the Duke of Romney flat on his back from fainting.

  "Oh my," Lady Bridges gasped, and Millie could not tear her eyes away from the sizable manhood that jutted out between the duke's leg and spread towel. His fall had opened the fold in the cloth and bared all to see his impressive…well, impressiveness.

  Oh my was right. Her breath hitched, and heat suffused her face, spreading all the way to her toes as she gained a better look at him this time. She had never seen a man naked before Romney. Was that what was hiding under the comfortable-looking breeches men wore all the time?

  She bit her lip, her attention dipping to the hairs surrounding his sex, his thighs, parted by his fall. They, too, looked muscular and hairy. All his years of riding horses had certainly put the duke into good health.

  Her father and Lord Bridges brushed past her, quickly covering His Grace before her father turned a stern glance on her. "To your room, Millie. We will come and speak to you in a moment."

  Millie did not argue and did as she was told. There would be a way out of this mess. Her parents would not make her marry the duke just because she had made the error of entering his room by mistake.

  She left the room and skidded to a stop at the sight of many of the houseguests, all of them having viewed her exit the duke's room. She hoped they did not look closer and see him strewn on the floor with nothing but a towel.

  Oh, dear Lord, she was going to be made to marry him.

  She recoiled at the thought, gaining the sanctity of her room, slamming the door shut on anyone who was watching. She was meant to have a Season in town. Be swept off her feet by her one true love and marry that man. She had always wanted to find love, in fact, her sisters may state she was the most romantic of them all. From what she knew of Romney, there was not a romantic bone in his body. Certainly not one aimed toward her. Millie paced her bedroom floor and stared out the window, her mind fraught with what she could do to get out of this mess.

  How could she have made such a mistake?

  She turned and looked at the locked door that separated her and the room that adjoined hers. How had she not known that the duke was staying in the rooms beside her own?

  It was all Ashley's fault. If she had not married Lord Howley, Millie would not have been at this monumental house where she had muddled up her room's location.

  A knock sounded on her door, and bidding them enter, her parents joined her. Their faces were pale and disappointed but not without concern. Her mother at least was back on her feet.

  "Dearest Millie, what possessed you? How could you have made such a grave mistake?" her mama asked, tears pooling in her eyes.

  Millie shook her head, unable to grasp how she had either. "I counted the doors incorrectly. I was headed upstairs to change and walked in just when the duke was climbing out of the bath. It was an innocent mistake and one that I do not feel I should be punished for."

  "Come and sit, my dear," her father said, taking her arm and leading her over to a small settee near the unlit hearth. "There is much to discuss," he said.

  Millie shook her head. "There is nothing to discuss. I will not marry the duke. I do not even like him." She gestured to the door. "You have seen us together. We do not agree on anything. He's too opinionated and knowledgeable, or at least he thinks he is." She paused. "I could not abide him, and my marriage would be miserable. I would rather be ruined than be forced to be his wife."

&nbs
p; Her mother rummaged for her handkerchief, dabbing at the tears now running freely down her cheeks. Millie hated to hurt either of her parents, but she could not do what her mind screamed no to. Should they marry, they would kill each other before the first week was out.

  "Neither of you has a choice. The duke will join us shortly, and he wishes to speak to you. He will do the right thing for you and our family as he should, and you will accept him, Millie. There is no other choice."

  Millie gaped, stupefied. Married! To the Duke of Romney!

  She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat at the mere thought. He was atrocious, cocky to the point of arrogance. However would she put up with him as her husband?

  Forever.

  This house party had turned into a nightmare.

  "I do not love him. I do not know or even like the man. How could you force this on me when he never touched one hair on my head? He did not kiss me. He did not lay with me. Nothing. I entered his room, realized my mistake, and left," she lied. Better that than say she argued with him about his room first before leaving.

  “That you and Mama and Lord and Lady Bridges were in the hallway was unfortunate, but I promise, I swear on my life, do not take my Season away from me. Do not make me marry a man I do not love. My sisters are so incandescently happy. Please allow me to find my happiness," she implored.

  Her parents stared at her with pity, and Millie knew what they were about to say before they uttered a word.

  "It is done, our darling girl. You will marry the Duke of Romney, and in time we hope you will think more favorably upon the union than you do now," her mama said.