Page 1 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

CHAPTER 1

“Your time is up, child!” Tristan Lovell, Baron Dewsbury, chastised as their carriage made its way through the English countryside. Emma Lovell sighed softly, the familiar censure prickling her insides.

“I have never heard of a lady in herthirdseason without so much as a glance from an interested suitor!” he continued, his eyes wide as if he was in disbelief.

“It is not entirely unheard of, Father,” Emma responded, before turning her attention to the window, seeking a momentary escape in the landscape whisking by.

At that moment, the imposing silhouette of Firman Manor emerged through the dense foliage, its stone towers tall against the summer sky. The sight gave Emma a sense of dread instead of comfort, for she detested the impending social maneuvers that awaited at the Earl of Firman’s house party.

“We are almost there,” her father declared. “I have been patient enough as a father. And you have wasted enough time, Emma.”

“Oh, Tristan dear,” Caroline Lovell, the Baroness Dewsbury, interjected with a soothing voice that did nothing to move him. “I am sure Emma knows what she must do. This is an opportunity she will not waste.” Turning to Emma, she surreptitiously gestured to her to say something.

“Of course, Father. Rest assured that I will make a match,” Emma said more to silence him than to convey any true intent.

She disliked how her mother always seemed to fuel her father’s relentless expectations. The man was never wrong in his own eyes, and his words were final—unchangeable. This had fostered in Emma resentment toward her father, and pity for her mother.

“See, My Lord, I told you the girl is just as desperate,” her mother chimed in with a nervous smile.

Emma felt a bitter sensation clawing its way up her throat. Was she truly a daughter to them? Or merely an asset to be used in their social ambitions? The notion of being nothing more than ‘the girl they must marry off well’ settled over her spirit like a shroud.

“You must make the best match. And no, a man without a title will not do,” Baron Dewsbury continued. “I need a son-in-law who would pay me back all the money I have wasted on you in the last three unsuccessful seasons.” Emma fought to keep her composure, the lump in her throat painful.

“I heard the guest list is quite extensive,” Caroline interjected, her voice carrying a hint of enthusiasm as she recited the names of four Viscounts and a Baron rumored to be attending the house party.

Emma’s father, however, remained distinctly unimpressed by the enumeration of lesser nobility. His stern gaze flicked briefly over his wife, prompting her to hastily supplement her earlier statement.

“The Duke of Seymore is to attend as well.”

“Are you in your right mind, woman?” Tristan suddenly sat up against the plush cushion of the carriage seat. “I am trying to marry off my daughter, not to smear my family name and plummet in society!”

At her husband’s stern rebuke, Caroline’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink.

Emma knew little about the Duke of Seymore, besides whispers that fluttered through society like sinister butterflies. He was a sworn bachelor, renowned for his rakish exploits and the scandals that seemed to cling to him. Rumors abounded that he had compromised the reputations of several ladies and had stubbornly refused to offer for any one of them marriage. To be associated with someone like Seymore was ruin for any gently bred lady.

“I was merely stating the guest list as I heard it, My Lord,” her mother quickly corrected. “But I’m sure the Earl, must be insearch of a wife…” she insinuated, her eyes alight with a hint of mischief that seemed to momentarily dissolve the stern air around her husband. Predictably, his demeanor softened at the prospect.

“Nowthatis a catch worthy of consideration. Whether he is searching for a wife or not is beside the point. The man is a peer and must produce an heir to carry on his title.” He turned to Emma with meaning in his gaze.

She felt a cold dread settle within her as her father opened his mouth yet again to speak. “I do not care how you do it. Get him to marry you before the end of the house party.”

Emma swallowed convulsively. She had no words to respond to such a blunt command. Her parents’ intentions for her were crystal clear; they saw her as little more than a means to secure their own social ascent.

“If you fail, I have a suitor waiting for you in London,” he finished, his voice curiously smug now, as if he held the winning card in a game of piquet.

“A suitor?” Emma suddenly sat up. This was certainly news to her. While she had been under tremendous pressure to secure a suitable match, her father had not yet attempted to force a specific gentleman upon her. Alas, she should have known better than to believe his meddling would remain merely verbal for long.

“Yes. My friend, the Marquess of Neads, is more than willing to take you off my hands,” her father responded, his tone dismissive, as if he were discussing the transfer of property rather than the future of his daughter.

Emma turned her gaze toward her mother, seeking some semblance of support or surprise, only to be further shocked and profoundly disappointed. Her mother’s eyes held a resignation that betrayed her foreknowledge of this scheme.

The Marquess of Neads was a decrepit old man, well into his sixties, notorious within society circles for his unabashed pursuit of a young wife to bear him ‘sons’. Emma felt as though she would cast up her accounts at any moment. She knew then with a sinking heart that she must secure a favorable match at this house party.

Relief washed over her when the carriage stopped in front of the manor. The cool breeze and the spacious grounds of the estate were a welcome reprieve from the cramped, tense atmosphere she had endured throughout the nine-hour trip.

A gentleman she assumed was Alexander Winger, the Earl of Firman, stood atop the marble steps, his hands clasped in front of him and a warm smile on his handsome face. His greeting was polite, but he seemed rather aloof.

“Lord Firman, we are most honored by the invitation,” her father said as he bowed, his voice dripping with a fervor that was almost desperate. “This is my lovely daughter, Emma,” heintroduced, practically pushing her forward such that she nearly stumbled.

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