LADY
+ DUKE = TRUE LOVE?
Lady Daphne Forsyth is
a brilliant mathematician with a burning passion for puzzles. When she learns
that the library belonging to her benefactress houses the legendary Cameron
Cipher—an encrypted message that, once solved, holds the key to great
riches—Daphne is on the case. Unfortunately, her race to unlock the cipher’s
code is continually thwarted by a deliciously handsome distraction she hadn’t
counted on . . . and cannot resist.
Dalton Beauchamp, the
Duke of Maitland, is curious as to why Daphne is spending so much time snooping
around his aunt’s bookshelves. He’s even more intrigued by her bold yet
calculating manner: She is unapologetic about her secret quest . . . and the
fiery attraction that develops between them both. But how can they concentrate
on solving a perplexing enigma once the prospect of true love enters the
equation?
Duke
with Benefits is the second in Manda
Collins' Studies in Scandal series set in Regency England.
Author Bio:
Manda Collins
is the author of several books, including Ready Set Rogue and
The Lords of Anarchy series. She spent her teen years wishing she’d been born a
couple of centuries earlier, preferably in the English countryside. Time travel
being what it is, she resigned herself to life with electricity and indoor
plumbing, and read lots of books. When she’s not writing, she’s helping other
people use books, as an academic librarian.
“There you are, my dear,” said the Earl of Forsyth with a
beaming smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Maitland saw at once that Daphne favored him. Her green eyes
were the same shade as his, though there were lines of dissipation bracketing
the earl’s. And though his expertly cropped blond hair was shot through with
silver, what remained of its original color was the same shade as hers. But
whereas Daphne’s gaze was focused off to the left of whomever she conversed
with, like a bird hovering just over a branch, Forsyth’s speared one with cold
calculation. As he did to Daphne now.
“You are looking well, Daphne,” the earl continued, stepping
forward to embrace his daughter, who looked as uncomfortable with the contact
as Maitland had ever seen her. “The sea air agrees with you. As I knew it
would.”
“The sea is very beautiful,” Daphne replied woodenly. “Why
are you here, Father?”
“Is that any way to greet your Papa?” the earl chided,
stepping back from her and wandering farther into the room, standing to stare
out at the gardens below through the window. “I’ve traveled all the way from
London to see you. And this lovely estate. I must admit that when I first
learned of your inheritance, I thought it was all some sort of trick. But you
would have your own way and leave the loving bosom of your family no matter
what I said. Now that I’m here, though, and see it in person, I must admit that
it’s a lovely spot. And your chaperone, Lady Serena, is quite beautiful, isn’t
she? A widow, I take it?”
His jaw clenched at the man’s mention of Serena, and
Maitland thought perhaps it was time to announce himself. Daphne seemed not to
realize he’d followed her in, and the earl was too busy waxing rhapsodic over
the beauties of Beauchamp House.
“I don’t believe we’ve met, Forsyth,” he said forcefully,
stepping up to stand side by side with Daphne. He gave a slight bow, perhaps
not quite as deep as was warranted, but not caring. “The Duke of Maitland. I am
a friend of your daughter’s, you might say.”
What he meant by that last, he could not say, but the man
made every bit of protective instinct within him go on the alert. He was her
father, but all the same Maitland knew that Daphne was no safer with him than
she would have been with Sommersby if he still lived.
At the sound of the duke’s voice, Lord Forsyth turned with
almost comical haste from the window and stared. For the barest flicker, he
looked angry. Well, if he were upset at the knowledge that his daughter was not
without friends, then he would simply have to swallow it. Because Maitland was
damned if he’d leave her alone with the fellow.
“Duke,” Lord Forsyth said with a tilt of his head, “I am
pleased to make your acquaintance. I was a friend of your father’s, and had
little notion I’d be meeting you here. He was a good man, your father.”
His father had been nothing of the sort, but Maitland was
hardly going to discuss it with Forsyth.
“I am here visiting my sister, Lady Serena,” Maitland said
coolly, letting the other man know in tone rather than words that he had not
appreciated the older man’s speculative words about her earlier. “And of course
my cousin, Kerr. He only recently married another of the heiresses here, and
resides here with her.”
Forsyth’s eyes narrowed at the implication that Daphne was
well protected should her father wish to cause trouble. At least that was the
message Maitland was endeavoring to send. And by the looks of it, Forsyth read
him loud and clear.
“Capital, capital,” the earl said with false cheer. “A merry
party you must all make here. I had no idea you were in such fine company here,
Daphne. No notion at all.”
“Because we have not spoken since I left,” Daphne said,
looking from her father to Maitland then back again, as if wondering what went
on between them. “And now, father, I really must ask you to leave. I have a
great deal of work to do and . . .”
“Don’t be absurd, Daphne,” her father said with a shake of
his head. “I only just arrived. And there is something very important I must
speak to you about.” He turned to Maitland with a raised brow. “I’m sure you’ll
excuse us, Duke. I’m afraid what I need to tell my daughter is private family
business.”
Maitland was opening his mouth to tell the man he would
leave Daphne alone with him when hell froze over, when Daphne did it for him.
“Maitland stays,” she said, reaching out to grasp him by the
arm. It was as much of a cry for help as he’d ever thought he’d see from her.
Wordlessly, he slipped her arm into his, as if they were about to promenade
round the room. He covered her hand with his, keenly aware of the thread of
tension in her.
Once more, the earl’s eyes narrowed, and he turned an
assessing gaze on Maitland, perhaps realizing for the first time the threat
coming at him from that direction.
His jaw clenched, Forsyth said grimly, “Very well. If you
wish your friend to witness our dirty linen, so be it.” As if needing to be in
motion in order to speak, the earl began to pace the area between the window
and the fireplace. “You know, Daphne, you left me without any obvious means of
recouping what I lost from years of paying that tutor of yours, old man
Sommersby.”
“You agreed to pay him,” Daphne said tightly. “After I
threatened to expose . . .”
Hastily, Forsyth continued, “And I am currently in need of
funds. As such, I must insist you return to London with me for the time being
and meet a particular gentleman who has expressed interest in marrying you.
Though his birth is not as high as yours, he’s quite wealthy and will make you
a good husband, I trust. He’s assured me he has no concern about your odd ways,
if you’re as beautiful as your portrait.”
Before Maitland could burst out with the string of invectives
the other man’s pronouncement inspired in him, Daphne said, “I cannot marry
this person. I’ve never even met him. You promised me that I would not have to
marry someone for money as long as I won enough at the tables. I did so. You
promised me, father.”
“I never actually promised, Daphne.” Forsyth said with a
shake of his head. “If you chose to interpret it as such, that is not my fault.
Now, go pack your things.”
Daphne’s hand on Maitland’s arm gripped him tightly. And
before he even knew what he was doing, he said, “I’m afraid that’s impossible,
Forsyth. Daphne is staying here.”
“I don’t know who you think you are, Maitland,” said the
earl through clenched teeth, “but I am her father, and I am well within my
rights to take her back to London. Now, kindly take your hands off of her and
let her go pack.”
“It might once have been your right, Forsyth,” Maitland said
coldly, “but Lady Daphne is my betrothed now and as such, she will remain here.
With me.”
Copyright © 2017 by
Manda Collins and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Press.
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