The Duke's Deception

Chapter One

         Reagan Lightwood paled as the angry words carried along the darkened hallway. The sounds of revelry had woken her earlier but she had paid it no attention. Her elder brother Malcolm had been drinking again, from the sound of it quite heavily. This, she was not surprised about because he had been that way since his wife Mary died, although he had never bought his excesses home before. Indeed, this time it sounded as though not only had he bought his drunken self home, he had bought several gentlemen in like states as well. From the insults being hurled around the library, she also surmised that they had coaxed him into gambling or perhaps losing was a more accurate description.
‘You’re a bloody two-faced lying cheat, Harley!’ The words slurred but Reagan recognized the name. It had been in the news sheets frequently over the years but how did her brother know him?
Lord Harley, Duke of Bellbridge was far above the Lightwood station. The door crashed open, and at last, Reagan was face to face with a fuming Malcolm. His face red beneath the day’s growth of whiskers, stains upon his loose-fitting shirt and the smell of stale smoke hung thickly about his dishevelled sandy hair.
‘Take it back, brother, I beg of you,’ she whispered frantically.
‘I won’t, and not even you can make me!’ He snarled. ‘There’s no way the aces could appear so easily unless he had them up his sleeve. I am nobody’s fool and he’s a bloody cheat!’
‘Do not say that!’ She pleaded, ‘I do not ask for myself, Malcolm, I beg it for your children. Please think of them. They need you alive and here, not dead or on the run. What kind of life would that be for them?’
At this, his green eyes dulled, the fury abated as his shoulders slumped. It was a cruel reminder of his responsibilities but how else could Reagan stop her brother from facing a duel against one of the most notorious members of the ton.
‘You have my apology, Your Grace.’ But Malcolm’s voice was weak; defeated.
The gentleman in question moved slowly from his seat at the end of the table, it seemed to take an eternity for him to stand to his full height. Reagan’s breathing pattern halted momentarily as she watched the lithe movement mesmerised. In full dress, the man may have been classified as intimidatingly handsome, however, now dressed in a wrinkled linen shirt with a black vest hanging unbuttoned and sleeves rolled to elbows, the effect was rather lessened or it should have been, Reagan reflected, as she felt the stirring of a thousand butterflies in her stomach.
‘Instead of your apology, Lightwood, I would have your delicious little sister,’ the stranger responded, his voice as warm and smooth as the glass of brandy in his hand. His offer was followed by a round of jovial laughter from the remaining guests.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Reagan asked in astonishment, ‘I realise the number of empty bottles has significantly affected the sense within the room but have you lost your wits completely?’
‘I assure you, Miss Lightwood, I am more sensible now than I have been for quite some time.’ His lordship moved into the light offered by both the fire’s flames and the candles placed upon the mantle. His right cheek was marred by scars that reached into his hairline and down his neck to disappear underneath the collar. Reagan stifled the gasp that vibrated through her tightening throat while her eyes followed the scars as far as they could. The stranger stepped closer, so close, in fact, she had to look up. Unexpectedly, a jacket was wrapped around her shoulders. She had forgotten that all she was wearing was her worn nightgown.
‘They are hideously mesmerizing are they not?’
‘I do not mean to stare, Your Grace,’ she stammered, raising her gaze to his. His eyes were like shards of ice looking down at her.
‘Well, Lightwood, what is it to be?’ He asked, looking away and breaking the strange hold between them. ‘Pistols at dawn or…..’
Lord Harley did not get to finish before Malcolm answered, once again preparing to fight. ‘Name your seconds.’
‘Do not be stupid, Malcolm, please,’ Reagan begged, ‘l cannot care for your children by myself.’
‘So, you doubt my skill?’ Malcolm sounded hurt but he did not back down.
‘In this, yes.’ Reagan responded honestly. ‘I am not so naive as to think your aim is as true as someone’s that has been tested so often!’
‘I see my reputation precedes me.’ The duke lowered his head slightly, the auburn waves in his over long hair shifted with the movement. ‘I would, however, recommend you not believe everything you read.’
‘He can’t just have you!’
‘Why not?’ Reagan demanded, turning to confront her brother. ‘Father left us little better than paupers, I have no prospects of a marriage so if setting me up as a mistress removes the prospect of my niece and nephew growing up as orphans then so be it.’
The idea should have revolted her but Reagan knew her future was bleak no matter what. What remained of the Lightwood estate would be needed to secure Malcolm a new wife when his mourning had ended. So she needed to find her own way to survive and although his grace said not to believe everything written about him, he had been reported to be very generous to his paramours.
‘You don’t know what you’re saying, Reagan!’
‘Well, that makes both of us.’ She responded tartly. Reagan turned back to Harley, ‘in accepting your… offer, I have your word that you will forget my brother’s insult and his debt?’
‘You do if you remain willing,’ the duke accepted.
‘Then we have an understanding, Your Grace. Name your terms.’
‘I will send word for you in the next day or so, but for now, my cohorts and I will bid you a goodnight.’
With that, he bent forward and placed a light kiss upon her lips before somehow ushering his drunken friends from her home. Malcolm looked stunned, his chin dropped opening his mouth but no words came out for several minutes and then he could hardly stop them to take a breath.
‘What have you … Jesus, Reagan what … Do you know who he is? Harley will chew you up and spit you out without a second thought. He is a gentleman of the peerage with connections, wealth … friends in high places…’
‘You left me with little choice, Malcolm. I may not know much, but I do know your insult truly was unforgivable. If you do not think of your children, you can be assured I will. Besides, what else am I good for? Am I to sell flowers or become a governess?’
‘You are taking matters too far. Granted, we don’t have much but I would never see you go without.’
‘It is too late now, I have given my commitment and will do as I must.’
‘You think me selfish.’
‘Yes, and a drunk.’
‘You wound me deeply, sister.’
‘Too bad!’ Reagan did not care her words were harsh, she had been balancing precariously for the months since the tragedy that had changed everything, but tonight had pushed her over that invisible edge. ‘If you thought of anyone but yourself, you would not be walking down this path to destruction.’
‘How can you say that? I am heartbroken. Every waking moment I am reminded of Mary. Reminded of what I have lost.’
‘And she would be so proud to see what you have become!’
‘My grief may have turned me to the bottle, but I never thought I’d see the day when you turn into the whore.’
‘When you turned me into one.’ That statement caused his anger to return and he lashed out a palm to slap her across a soft cheek. ‘Perhaps I should have let him blow your brains out.’
Malcolm turned and rushed from the library and the silence was a welcome one though sleep would not be easy now. Instead of even trying to find rest, Reagan began to clean the library. The many bottles of wine she placed upon the table they had been using; the rubbish was placed into the waste bin beside her brother’s large desk and anything that could burn she threw upon the flames in the fireplace. As the first rays of dawn reflected in the windows, the only task left was to work out how to get the pile of money upon the table to its new owner. The gossip columns never once provided an address for the duke, so after gathering the blunt, Reagan searched her brother’s papers for any clue as to a direction. At the end of her search, she was both exhausted and broken-hearted.
Malcolm’s debts were far greater than this one night. If she was brave enough to keep the several thousand from tonight’s play it might have made a small dent, but account after account showed it would barely make a ripple in a pond. Somehow she would need to convince his grace that she was worth a small fortune as his mistress to save her brother from debtor’s prison.
The sleeve of her borrowed jacket worked well as a kerchief to wipe away the tears. The soft material and shiny button at the cuff screamed wealth. As her eyes studied the emblem embossed on the button, Reagan realized it belonged to her new protector. People of such consequence always carried calling cards so she patted each pocket until her hand encountered a metal case.
The card inside was just as expensively made as both tin and jacket. Regretfully, she pulled the material from her shoulders to wrap the money up.
‘Oh!’ Her reverie was interrupted as their last remaining maid entered the library. ‘Miss Reagan, you startled me.’
‘I did not mean to, Jenny,’ Reagan responded, ‘I have done my best in here but if you could see to the rest?’
‘Of course, Miss.’
‘And ... see that this is delivered to the address on the card.’
‘Yes, Miss,’ the maid dipped at the knees.
Reagan quit the library and headed for her bed-chamber. With her beyond the pale now, she would need to remove herself from this house as soon as his grace provided the direction of her new one. How long would it take for him to make those arrangements?
She had no idea on such complex issues, but a gentleman of the duke’s position would surely have the means to make it happen quickly, for all his whispered of conquests would hardly wait for such comforts. It was with a heavy heart that Reagan commenced folding her gowns into the trunk that she had once called her hope chest.


Nicholas Harley had certainly imbibed quite freely during the evening at his gentlemen’s club, but some sixth sense had put a stop to that as he had entered the Lightwood townhouse. Why he had even agreed to come had confused him since Lightwood was well below him in every way. It may have had something to do with the fact that Francis Poulter had seen the fellow as something of an easy mark in emptying his pockets. After all these years, Nick could not forget his hatred towards the man. Either way, something had convinced him to keep in their company. All and sundry knew about Lightwood’s late wife and how low the gent had been bought by his grief but why had Nick himself cared enough to not want him knocked any lower?
He had never considered it his role to save young bucks stupid enough to enter deep play when they could not afford it. Nick was jaded, he could not deny that. Life had been simple ... easy in recent years. So easy in fact, he had become bored. After the initial shock of waking up with his scars, God appeared to be apologising with all the good fortune he could possibly ever wish for. Perhaps it would transfer some to Lightwood in his need.
But then, as the young buck had lost hand after hand, Nick’s hope disintegrated ... almost. Poulter did not seem to be having any luck with the cards either.
The next hand was dealt, and Nick picked up the two cards before him to spare them a brief glance. The ten of hearts and the ace of clubs. A winning hand if they had been playing twenty-one, but not the poker they were.
The first round of betting began with low stakes, Nick joined in by tossing a few coins onto the pile. The dealer placed the flop cards face up, and Nick hid his smile. Poulter was not so careful in hiding his reaction, nor was their host.
‘All in!’ Lightwood called quickly.
Poulter also scrambled to add his remaining chips to the middle. This was it; whoever won this pot would walk away with everything because Nick could not let Poulter win if he could help it.
‘All in,’ Nick said casually, he had to count on the ace in his hand and the one in the flop being the strongest hand. The turn card was revealed exposing a ten, he had two pairs, his matching cards were the highest value cards on the table. His only competition would be if someone was holding onto a flush.
Nick’s gaze flicked between Lightwood and Poulter, assessing them closely. Lightwood’s green eyes had darkened from the shade of grass to that of a jungle, and he was chewing the inside of his cheek waiting for the end; a bluff. Poulter was trying not to smile again. Did he have the flush?
There was no changing his mind now Nick realised, and he slowly flipped his two cards over as Poulter did the same.
‘Oh, I say!’ Someone exclaimed loudly, ‘three sevens looks to be a winner!’
Nick had not given the smaller cards a thought as to what else could have been a winning hand, and as Poulter’s lizard thin lips turned upwards into an insolent sneer, he returned his attention to his own cards. ‘Are you going to call it now, Lightwood?’ The taunting tone rubbed roughly along Nick’s nerves, but years of rigid discipline held any reaction in check, hoping the young fellow would not fall into the trap of answering back. Thankfully, Lightwood also held his tongue, so Poulter continued his mocking. ‘No, what about you, Your Grace? Can you beat my sevens?’
‘Do not get ahead of yourself yet, Pouter,’ Nick replied, ‘there is still one more card to come, and Lightwood is yet to show us his hand.’
At the reminder, Lightwood revealed his two cards; a pair of eights before him as well as the one in the flop. They beat the three sevens. Not a bluff.
‘Son of a bitch!’ Poulter swore, his mood swung instantly from glee to anger. At least if Nick did not win Poulter would not either.
The dealer flipped the river.
Another ace. Nick had won after all.
‘You’re a bloody two-faced lying cheat, Harley!’
What?
Nick was taken aback by the insult, but before he could respond, the door burst open and in rushed an angel. Her sun-kissed blonde hair streamed behind her.
‘Take it back, brother, I beg of you,’ the girl’s words softened as she pleaded with Lightwood, but Nick stopped listening as his eyes devoured the gloriously shaped body beneath a flimsy white nightgown. The lace lined straps across her shoulders exposed an indecent amount of soft pale flesh at both neckline and the length of arms. The vision was a very pleasing one.
Nick suddenly remembered the other gents in the smoke-filled room and became quite ... possessive of his angel, and then Lightwood’s voice caught his attention once again.
‘You have my apology, Your Grace.’
Pistols at dawn was not a welcome idea to Nick, but the situation offered him something that had not appealed to him for some time. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, not caring about the dishevelment of his appearance. Likely she would see no further than the scars that deformed the right side of his face.
‘Instead of your apology, Lightwood, I would have your delicious little sister.’ His statement had her turning emerald eyes towards him; her lovely features frozen in stunned silence, and Nick felt the thrill of excitement stir.
‘I beg your pardon? I realise the number of empty bottles has significantly affected the sense within the room but have you lost your wits completely?’ The girl questioned.
‘I assure you, Miss Lightwood, I am more sensible now than I have been for quite some time.’ He moved closer to her and noticed how her eyes widened. She let out a little gasp when she saw his scars, but did not flinch or turn away as everyone else had done. While her gaze was so drawn to his cheek, he slipped his superfine jacket around her; hiding the enticing curves beneath.
‘They are hideously mesmerizing are they not?’ It was hard to control the coldness in his words.
‘I do not mean to stare, Your Grace,’ she stammered, her green gaze moved to lock with his.
‘Well, Lightwood, what is it to be?’ Nick pressed. ‘Pistols at dawn or…..’
‘Name your seconds.’ Lightwood’s response surprised him, the fellow could have little to no skill with the weapon in such settings.
‘Do not be stupid, Malcolm, please,’ Reagan begged, ‘l cannot care for your children by myself.’ The angel pleaded.
‘So, you doubt my skill?’ Lightwood sounded hurt.
‘In this, yes. I am not so naive as to think your aim is as true as someone’s that has been tested so often!’
‘I see my reputation precedes me.’ Nick nodded once, it should not have surprised him that a stranger would believe the stories printed about him. ‘I would, however, recommend you not believe everything you read.’
‘He can’t just have you!’ Lightwood was becoming petulant; an unbecoming trait and one his sister appeared to disapprove of too.
‘Why not? Father left us little better than paupers, I have no prospects of a marriage so if setting me up as a mistress removes the prospect of my niece and nephew growing up as orphans then so be it.’
‘You don’t know what you’re saying, Reagan!’
Ah, Reagan; a name that was as refreshing as the bearer herself, Nick reflected, as he listened to the bickering between siblings.
‘Well, that makes both of us.’ Her attention returned to Nick, ‘in accepting your… offer, I have your word that you will forget my brother’s insult and his debt?’
‘You do if you remain willing.’ Nick had never lowered himself into pressing his attentions on an unwilling partner, but he had also never been exactly in this position before either. Offer was one word for what he had in mind certainly, but he felt certain his meaning did not coincide with what she was thinking.
‘Then we have an understanding, Your Grace. Name your terms.’
‘I will send word for you in the next day or so, but for now, my cohorts and I will bid you a goodnight.’ The temptation was too great to resist, so Nick bent and placed a very chaste kiss upon her silken lips. Straightening again, he wordlessly gestured to the others, and they departed without so much as a second glance. He would need to work quickly to act before rumours started. Though, he knew that his only problem would be relying upon Poulter to keep his mouth shut. The other two gentlemen were his true friends, and Nick had no fear of them speaking.