The Regency Season: Decadent Dukes. Кэрол Мортимер

just as happy to remain here, or to go to London. As long as I am with you it does not matter where we are,” she assured, knowing it was true, and that Rufus meant more to her than anything else. That he was her dream, loving him was her true freedom, and marriage to him would be the biggest adventure.

      “We will travel,” Rufus insisted. “I am looking forward to sharing all the wonders of the world with you. To seeing them through your beautiful eyes. I love you so much, Anna Juliet. So very, very much,” he added fiercely.

      “I love you too, Rufus,” she answered him just as earnestly.

      “Then marry me and make me the happiest of men.”

      “As you will make me the happiest of women.”

      Anna had no doubts it was a vow, and a love, they would both treasure for the rest of their hopefully long lives together.

      * * *

      They made their official vows before family, friends and God just weeks later, Anna somewhat overwhelmed by meeting so many titled members of the ton, most especially the five Dangerous Dukes, and several of their wives, who were all Rufus’s closest friends.

      But she need not have worried, the three duchesses could not have been more welcoming, and the dukes were all exceedingly charming to her. Apart from Griffin Stone, Duke of Rotherham, who was pleasant enough, but seemed to be of a naturally taciturn disposition.

      “Do you think he is leaving early because he disapproves of me?” Anna whispered to her new husband after Rotherham had taken his leave to depart for his estate in Lancashire.

      “I would not care if he did,” Rufus assured her with his usual arrogance. “But I am sure he does approve of you, my darling.” He kissed her soundly in front of all their wedding guests. “Rotherham is… It is only that weddings are not his favourite occasions.” He grimaced.

      Rufus had told Anna all there was to know about him. His past, his present, their future. And she loved him still, in spite of it.

      But there was no reason for him to talk on their wedding day of his and the other Dangerous Dukes’ work for the Crown. No need to explain that Griffin was returning to his estate because they had received word that Jacob Harker, Rufus’s errant estate manager, had possibly been seen in Lancashire.

      “Oh?” Anna looked up at him enquiringly.

      “Never mind your curiosity about Griffin.” Rufus tapped her lightly on her nose. “You shall have your hands far too full of your husband, and our happiness together for many years to come, to be able to indulge your inquisitive nature in regard to Rotherham. Besides which, he would not thank you for it,” he added with certainty.

      “Really, husband?” Anna looked up at him mischievously. “And how shall we occupy ourselves for these many years to come?”

      Rufus grinned down at her. “I am sure we shall think of something.”

      The two of them laughed softly together, the promise of a long and happy life together ahead of them. The adventure they had both longed for and now found in each other.

      * * * * *

       Griffin Stone: Duke of Decadence

      Carole Mortimer

      Who: Griffin Stone, tenth Duke of Rotherham.

      What: A disheveled woman who is nearly trampled by his carriage horses.

      When: Late one summer night while the Duke is in pursuit of would-be assassins.

      Why: When the mysterious beauty’s identity is revealed as Lady Beatrix Stanton, Griffin realizes it’s she who holds the key to everything. Bea’s memory must be unlocked, but with every second in her presence inflaming Griffin’s desire, keeping his mind on the task ahead proves nigh on impossible!

       To all of you for loving the Dangerous Dukes as much as I do!

       Chapter One

      July 1815, Lancashire, England.

      ‘What the—?’ Griffin Stone, the tenth Duke of Rotherham, pulled sharply on the reins of his perfectly matched greys as a ghostly white figure ran out of the darkness directly in front of his swiftly travelling phaeton.

      Despite his concerted efforts to avoid a collision, the ethereal figure barely missed being stomped on by the high-stepping and deadly hooves, but was not so fortunate when it came to the back offside wheel of the carriage.

      Griffin winced as he heard rather than saw that collision, all of his attention centred on bringing the greys to a stop before he was able to jump down from the carriage and run quickly round to the back of the vehicle.

      There was only the almost full moon overhead for illumination, but nevertheless Griffin was able to locate where the white figure lay a short distance away.

      An unmoving and ghostly shape was lying face down in the dirt.

      Two strides of his long legs brought him to the utterly still figure, where he crouched down on his haunches. Griffin could see that the person was female; long dark hair fell across her face and cascaded loosely down the length of her spine, and she was wearing what, to him, looked suspiciously like a voluminous white nightgown, her feet bare.

      He glanced about them in confusion; this private way through Shrawley Woods was barely more than a rutted track, and as far as he was aware there were no houses in the immediate vicinity. In fact, Griffin was very aware as the surrounding woods and the land for several miles about them formed part of his principal ducal estate.

      It made no sense that this woman was roaming about his woods wearing only her nightgown.

      He placed his fingers about her wrist, with the intention of checking for a pulse, only to jerk back as she unexpectedly gave a pained groan the moment his fingers touched her bared flesh. It let him know she was at least still alive, even if the sticky substance he could feel on his fingertips showed she had sustained an injury of some kind.

      Griffin took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his hand before reaching out to gently stroke the long dark hair from over her face, revealing it as a deathly pale oval in the moonlight.

      ‘Can you hear me?’ His voice was gruff, no doubt from the scare he had received when she’d run out in front of his carriage.

      Shrawley Woods was dense, and this rarely used track was barely navigable in full daylight; Griffin had only decided to press on in the darkness towards Stonehurst Park, just a mile away, because he had played in these woods constantly as a child and knew his way blindfolded.

      There had been no reason, at eleven o’clock at night, for Griffin to take into account that there would be someone else in these woods. A poacher would certainly have known his way about in a way this barely clothed female obviously did not.

      ‘Can you tell me where you are injured so that I can be sure not to hurt you again?’ Griffin prompted, his frown darkening when he received no answer, and was forced to accept that she had once again slipped into unconsciousness.

      Griffin made his next decision with the sharp precision for which he had been known in the army. It was late at night, full dark, no one had yet come crashing through the woods in pursuit of this woman, and, whoever she might be, she was obviously in need of urgent medical attention.

      Consequently there was only one decision he could make, and that was to place her in the phaeton and continue on with the rest of his journey to Stonehurst Park. Once there they would no longer be in darkness, and he could ascertain her injuries more accurately, after which a doctor could be sent for. Explanations for her state of undress, and her mad flight through the woods,