A Vixen for the Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Hale Sisters Book 2)

Morgan barely slept for the remainder of the night. In fact, pleasuring Harriet had all but messed up his sleep schedule. If he had known upon meeting her that she would single-handedly upend his ability to rest for the foreseeable future, he would have been sure to keep his bedside table fully stocked with brandy. Anything to help him get even an hour would have been appreciated.

When it was time for breakfast, he made sure he was looking presentable in the mirror. It was the same mirror that he had had Harriet pressed against hours earlier. He loved the faces she had made as he had given her the smallest taste of what he could do to her. He winced, hitting his forehead softly against the glass. It was hard to believe he’d gotten that carried away. He knew that he shouldn’t have done that, but at this point, he had known full well that whatever transpired when he was alone with her would be one step too far.

He would have to face her in a few minutes, and he dreaded the way she might react. Would she be angry? Would she be confused? Maybe she would freeze him out after what he’d done. If not for him, none of that would have happened, because she had seemed to have very little idea of what he could do.

Taking a deep breath, Morgan stepped out of the guest room and shut the door behind him. He went down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, he smiled, seeing both Lucy and Daphne seated on the couch. Across from them, Harriet sat on the other couch, too distracted by the view out the window to notice him.

“How is your leg, Daphne?” he asked. At this, Harriet started, swivelling around to look at him with wide eyes. He swallowed hard and turned back to his cousin.

“I feel so much better. Harriet took my bandage off this morning. She was right, it was just a pulled muscle.”

“Good.” He smiled. “Then you will be just fine to continue your lessons when we return home this afternoon.”

“Actually,” Daphne shouted, sitting up straighter on the couch, “it still hurts. I better go get some more rest.”

He stifled a laugh. “Yes, of course.”

Daphne turned back to Lucy and resumed their conversation.

Harriet had returned to whatever had been distracting her out the window. She was sitting on the couch, her torso turned and her crossed arms resting on the seatback. This morning, it looked like it might rain. The clouds were heavy and grey, and silver light poured in through the window. It was pretty, in the way that spring showers always had a way of suggesting that more life and growth were right around the corner.

Morgan sat beside her. She turned to look at him, smoothing out her pretty olive-green dress. She looked small under his gaze as if she might just crumble, but for what reason, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps she regretted their evening. His heart dropped, his chest feeling hollow like a drum.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

And just like that, she offered him a knowing smile. Morgan could have released a sigh of relief. “Hmm. There was a great deal on my mind,” she replied.

He nodded. “What a coincidence. I felt much the same.”

She laughed lightly and turned back to the window. She placed her chin wistfully on the back of the couch and sighed. It was then that Morgan noticed what she was looking at. Outside, Bridget and Oliver were sitting at a garden table on the patio, discreetly holding hands.

“I have been much too hard on them,” Harriet whispered. Daphne was too much in her own world to hear, or even notice.

“You know.” Morgan took a deep breath, biting his cheek. “When my uncle first told me, I wasn’t very hopeful. It didn’t seem like him. Ever since Daphne’s mother died, he had enjoyed the freedom of being by himself.”

“My aunt as well.”

“But things change,” he continued. “And I can see very plainly that that is no longer the case. All Uncle Oliver ever wanted was for me to be happy. I am a grown man now and very happy, in most cases. I wish much the same for him.”

“That is very mature of you,” she whispered. “I am still working on being more mature.”

“You are only twenty, Harriet. I think you are much too hard on yourself.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps this will be a turning point for me. I think I have some apologising to do with regards to my aunt, although it hurts my pride.” She swallowed. “I think you have made me a better person in some ways, and I thank you for that.”

“And in other ways?”

“In other ways, Your Grace, you have been a terrible influence.”

He laughed. “It may surprise you, but the feeling is incredibly mutual.”

“Me?” she asked incredulously. “A bad influence?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, glancing over to make sure that Lucy and Daphne were still distracted. “You know what you are doing. I can only remain so strong at the hands of a beautiful woman.”

Harriet blushed lightly and smirked. There was a brief pause in which she continued looking out the window, studying the couple seated on the patio. “Is it nice?” she asked.

“What?”

“To be single as a man?” She paused, tracing the pattern on the couch with her thumb. “As a woman, marriage is the only thing I was raised for. But you have always had a choice. You speak of it as freedom.”

Morgan’s heart softened. Did she really think that he didn’t see it for himself? “I used to see it that way. And it can be nice. It can be nice to be selfish and think only about myself and what I want.” He paused, looking at the purple and yellow crocuses that lined the pathway outside. “But I have enjoyed being selfish for a long time.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together as if the answer had disappointed her. “You wish to marry, then?”

“I do,” he replied.

Harriet’s hand was quick and discreet. If he weren’t looking so intently at her, he might not have noticed her quickly wiping her eye.

He frowned. “Does that upset you?” he asked.

“I—” She looked up at him, her mouth hanging open. After a moment, she closed her mouth and shook her head. “I struggle with my own selfishness sometimes,” she began, huffing a laugh in mockery of herself. “If that much has not been readily apparent. It just hurts to know that, eventually, everyone I care about will move on with their lives, and I will be left to my own devices.”

“And what if…” Morgan paused, closing his eyes in preparation for his words. They felt so heavy on his tongue. They’d weighed on him for what had felt like months, but saying them felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done. There was a good chance she’d say yes, but part of him worried that she would only agree for the comfort, or because of what he’d shown her the night prior. “What if I do not want you to be left to your own devices?”

Harriet choked in amusement. “I believe I should be the very last person you find yourself around after you marry.”

“Not if I—” Morgan cut himself off.

Had she really never considered that perhaps he wanted to marry her? Or did she really believe that Lord Northwick had ruined her? Maybe Morgan would face some prejudice for choosing to marry her, but what of it? He was the Duke of Stanton. It didn’t matter if the ton couldn’t understand his choice. It was the choice of a duke. They would have to respect it if they sought to earn his favour. Most people had ulterior motives and wanted something from him. It didn’t matter what he did. He had power that others did not have.

The front door opened, and Bridget and Oliver walked in, wiping their shoes on the mat. “Oh dear, everyone is awake!” She smiled. “Shall we all go into the dining room for breakfast?”

“I am so hungry!” Daphne leapt off the couch and hurried down the hall towards the dining room.

Morgan stood up, offering his hand and leaning ever so slightly to whisper in Harriet’s ear, “Perhaps we can resume this conversation later. I have much to say.”

Harriet looked up at him, gingerly accepting his hand. He swallowed hard. How could he have spoken to her the way he did, kissed her the way he did, and laughed with her the way he did, and she still did not realise that he was impossibly, unequivocally, and profoundly in love with her?

On their way to the dining room, Oliver held Morgan back. He sighed deeply, wiping his face with his palm. “I need your help,” he said when no one was around to hear them.

“Anything,” Morgan said.

Those four words from Oliver had been enough to make a serious man out of Morgan for as long as he’d lived. Oliver was a very capable man. He’d never asked for anything unless he needed it.

“Lady Moore and I have decided that it is the right time to tell Daphne. I think they have gotten closer, and it will be less of a shock to her than it might have been a few months ago.”

Morgan took a deep breath. “Now?”

Oliver nodded assuredly. “Just be there for me in case things go wrong.”

“Or to celebrate when things go right?”

Oliver smiled. “Precisely.”

The pair walked into the dining room. Daphne was smiling, happily tearing into the spread without waiting for everyone to take their seats. They would have to speak about manners later, but now was not the right time.

Morgan had high hopes. Ever since Harriet and Lucy had gotten involved, Daphne had become much better behaved. In fact, it had been nearly two weeks since she’d caused any mischief. He had crossed his fingers that her mean streak was finally over. She was becoming the same sweet kid that she had been so long ago.

He sat down in between Harriet and Daphne, then reached over and ran his hand over his cousin’s head, ruffling her hair affectionately. She seemed to have not even noticed, much too focused as she gnawed hungrily at a piece of brioche. Lately, her appetite had known no bounds.

Oliver took a deep breath and sat beside Bridget. For quite some time, this moment had been looming in the air, the great ‘what if’ that would decide much of the future. If Daphne reacted poorly to the news, there would be some difficult decisions that would have to be made.

“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” Oliver began. “It feels like summer is just upon us.”

“I hope it is not unbearably hot,” Lucy whined. “I would hate that.”

Oliver grimaced. The group’s pessimist was already taking a difficult conversation in a negative direction. Of course, Lucy didn’t know what he was about to say. Morgan hoped she’d have a little more tact if she did.

The Duke was quick to jump in. “Perhaps we should focus on the exciting endeavours ahead, don’t you think, Miss Lucy?”

Although she tried to conceal it, Lucy had very clearly rolled her eyes in response.

“That is a very good point.” Oliver smiled. “That is exactly what I wished to discuss this morning, considering that we are all together and the morning is so beautiful.”

Daphne hadn’t been moved by the conversation at all. She was still none the wiser, adding a bit more sugar than was healthy to her teacup. Morgan patted her shoulder lightly in an effort to get her attention, but she wasn’t focusing. He gave his uncle a reassuring nod. Oliver might just have to come out and say it if he wanted his daughter to hear it.

“What I mean to say is…” Oliver sucked in a sharp breath. “Daphne, I have asked Lady Moore for her hand in marriage, and she has agreed.”

Daphne dropped her brioche, which hit the plate with a thud. She swallowed, and she looked up at her father. For what felt like an eternity, she stared between him and Bridget, who was doing her best to smile excitedly, hoping that it might convince Daphne that the news was good.

All of a sudden, Daphne threw her head back and laughed. The room was completely silent aside from her laughter. She roared, her hand over her stomach, just as her father did, and her head tipped back and resting on the back of her chair. Finally, she slowed, coming to a stop when she realised that no one else was laughing at the supposed joke. “You are joking,” she spluttered. “You are joking.” She turned to Morgan. “Why don’t you laugh? He’s joking.” Her voice was nearly pleading.

If Morgan wasn’t half the man he was, he would have contemplated shrinking under the table and taking cover. This was beginning to go very badly. He put a reassuring hand on her back. “It is not a joke. It is merely some very good news.”

Daphne swatted his hand and stood up, her chair scraping loudly across the wood floor. She put her palms flat against the table and leaned forward, facing her father. “You are lying!”

“No.” Oliver shook his head. “No, sweetheart. I am not.”

“Ahh!” she growled, reaching down and grabbing her half-eaten bread. She threw it across the room, and it slammed against a painting, taking it down to the floor, the glass shattering.

Oliver stood up at once. “Daphne Porter! That is no way to behave, especially at your host’s house. Lady Moore has shown you great kindness after your injury yesterday evening!”

Daphne stilled, shaking her head. Her breathing grew heavy, and her eyes filled with tears. “I cannot believe you are doing this to me.” She glanced at the rest of the party. “All of you! You had all known and nobody told me!”

“Lady Daphne, your father did it with you in mind,” Harriet said. “He loves Lady Moore. Haven’t you noticed as well?”

“Loves? What do you know about love?” Daphne sneered. “Didn’t the man you loved leave you?” This cause Harriet to gasp lightly.

“Daphne!” Morgan shouted. “You cannot speak to Miss Harriet in that way!”

“And what do you know, Morgan?” Daphne shot back. “You say you understand me but you don’t! If you cared you would have never let Papa do this to me!” She stomped her foot hard.

“Daphne!” Morgan warned.

At once, she turned around and hurried out of the room.

The group sat in stunned silence as the sound of a slammed door reverberated throughout the room. “Oh my God,” Oliver whispered, slumping defeatedly into his seat. “I am so, so sorry. I am so sorry.”

Morgan stood up and headed over to the back door. “I will go talk some sense into her before she misbehaves.”

His uncle said nothing.

“I will look after him, dear,” Bridget assured the Duke and ran her hand over Oliver’s back soothingly.

Across the table, Harriet stood, looking between the devastated couple and Morgan. “Is there any way I can help, Your Grace?” she asked.

Morgan shook his head. “It is best if I talk to her alone.”