The Widow and Her Duke: The Grand Hotel: Book One Read online

  There were lots of male voices. The suggestion of maleness behind every door, even if no gentlemen could be seen. There were shouts, cheers, occasional bursts of laughter or streams of shocking language… and what was that? A feminine cry?

  Part of Serafine longed for the safe, comfortable environs of her bedroom. The other, more spirited half—the half that had only really emerged after the death of her husband, making her someone who would plan scandal, even if she never accomplished it—was sad she hadn’t arrived earlier.

  She ventured forward, gripping her skirts. The first room she passed was evidently for drinking; Serafine wrinkled her nose, her footsteps a little faster. Where precisely one could find a rake was still a mystery, but she wouldn’t find one in a room that stank of stale beer and oppressive male bodies.

  This had been an unwise idea. A stupid idea, no matter how firmly Sarah had offered this as a solution to her unusual problem. She should turn around and go directly to bed, perhaps beginning with something less extreme. A walk outside the coffee house the maid had mentioned, or even the tea gardens…

  A shadow fell across her path. Serafine looked up, straight into the dancing brown eyes of the man who had exited the room in front of her, and stifled an entirely inappropriate cry of alarm.

  Oh, no.

  Him.

  Tall, dark, lazily handsome him.

  Richard Oaks. The young, well-looking, effortlessly scandalous duke of Wenford, who had creditors and courtesans trailing in his wake. The man who’d made it his mission to tease Serafine in every ballroom they’d ever frequented, his outrageous whispers and cutting comments making her flustered, pink, breathless…

  … Richard Oaks, Duke of Wenford, who had always pretended to favour her. But now, in the corridor of the Grand Hotel, Serafine found herself wondering where the pretence ended and real desire began. The teasing glint in his eyes, the slight, arrogant smile hovering at the corner of his mouth–they were here now, on his face, even though nobody else but her was there to see him.

  Why was he here in the Grand Hotel? What hideous combination of coincidences had brought Richard Oaks’ path to align with hers on this day, of all days?

  He looked… interested. Excited about seeing her, almost—damn the spark of happiness that rose in her at the thought of this. Or perhaps–and this was much more likely, given their difference in age and fortunes–he was simply pleased to have found something unusual to gossip about with his younger, prettier paramours.

  ‘Wait.’ Richard moved closer, studying her. His gaze brightened, his expression softening for a brief, indefinable moment before returning to its usual state. ‘My goodness. It’s really you.’

  Serafine backed away, wondering why she wasn’t running. Damn it, her feet were firmly rooted to the floor when exertion beckoned–why couldn’t she do the wise thing and flee? ‘No. It isn’t.’

  ‘Forgive me. I’ve forgotten my manners.’ Richard bowed low, as if he were addressing a duchess; Serafine curtseyed as appropriately as she could, not knowing if she could tell him that too many manners were already being displayed. The man had every right to ignore her; she was no-one without her late husband, after all. ‘My lady.’

  ‘Your Grace.’ Oh, Lord, what was she to say? She could hardly comment on the wallpaper or the furnishings; this was the least salubrious part of the hotel, and from Richard’s face he knew it. He could go wherever he liked, of course, but her presence could be easily commented upon. ‘It’s… it’s unseasonably warm. For the season.’

  ‘Unseasonably warm for the season?’ Richard raised an eyebrow. ‘We’ve spoken together a dozen times, my lady, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say something quite so banal.’

  ‘Speaking of the weather is polite.’ He wasn’t making things easy. Weren’t gentlemen who discovered ladies in compromising situations meant to gracefully usher them into safer harbours? ‘It behoves us to be polite–we are hardly meeting in a ballroom.’

  ‘You can certainly say that again. I find you… temptingly close to the places where women of your sort are forbidden, my lady. And why would that be?’

  ‘I… I…’

  ‘Tongue-tied? Unusual for you.’ Richard leaned closer; Serafine automatically stepped backward, even though her body rebelled at such a cowardly move. Not least because being close to Richard Oaks had always been a secret, fiercely controlled craving of hers. ‘You’re always so admirably articulate. Are you going to disappoint me?’

  Disappoint him?

  Disappoint him?

  She may have been caught out in the midst of a decidedly sinful errand, but she was in no way responsible for disappointing Richard Oaks. If he was incapable of making his own fun, she was hardly the architect of his boredom—and damn it, she was tired and nervous enough to let him know it.

  She drew herself up to her full height. As the room next to her broke out in a riotous roar that meant someone had either won or lost a very large amount of money, Serafine tried to find the brazen, confident lady within her that had decided to make this risky decision in the first place.

  ‘You haven’t said my name.’

  Richard blinked. ‘Beg pardon.’

  ‘I know your name. You are Richard Oaks, Duke of Wenford. But even though you began this conversation, you have failed to say my name.’ Serafine paused, fighting the urge to smile–she had him in the palm of her hand. ‘I rather think you’ve forgotten it.’

  ‘I certainly have not.’

  ‘Then say it. Make a proper introduction—don’t address me as if I were a young lady in a coffee-house.’

  ‘Serafine Winters.’ Richard’s bow was even lower than before, his voice a good deal more serious. ‘If you wish me to give an itemised list of every occasion we’ve met, then—’

  ‘I don’t wish to be bored.’

  Richard’s answering laugh had a hint of gratitude. ‘I see you’re in fine form.’

  ‘I don’t see why you’ve chosen to detain me.’

  ‘I choose to detain you in every environment in which I find you. Haven’t you ever wondered why?’

  ‘Because you’ve already cut a swathe through the ladies of your own age, and are reduced to seeking older prey?’

  ‘I don’t consider our discussions a reduction. If anything, my younger conquests are little more than practice.’ Lord, the man could say unprintable things with the smiling face of an angel.

  ‘Someone might overhear you.’

  ‘I don’t care. And really—look at where we are, and who you are. Any eavesdropper will do nothing but cheer me on.’ Richard slowly bit his lip, evidently enjoying her reaction. ‘Are you unsettled, my lady?’

  ‘Not in the least.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  Damn it. If he wanted a surprise, she’d give him one. ‘And I doubt you’d believe why I’m here, your Grace. It must be such a pity, carrying such cynicism.’

  ‘Here in this corridor?’

  ‘Here in the Grand Hotel. Here in this rather unsightly corridor. Take your pick.’

  ‘I never pick when I could have both.’

  ‘Greed is an unpleasant quality.’

  ‘If only you could say that like you mean it.’

  ‘I do mean it. I mean everything I say.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt it. Only the dullest women speak the truth. But you’re leading me away from that tempting little conversational clue you dropped, like a breadcrumb in the woods. Why are you in the Grand Hotel, my lady? Why are you in this most insalubrious corridor?’

  ‘It—it was a slip of the tongue.’ Just as always when Richard Oaks was concerned, she’d grown far too excited. ‘Forget I said anything.’

  ‘I never forget anything you say. And I certainly can’t forget something that sounds so infinitely promising.’

  ‘If you were a gentleman worthy of your title, you’d endeavour to forget.’

  ‘I’ve never claimed to be worthy of my title, and the wider world would agree. And if you do
n’t tell me, I’ll be forced to invent my own explanation for why Serafine Winters, the most respectable woman in England, is doing in the Blue Corridor of the Grand Hotel at such a late hour… and in such a divine dress. Is it new?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It looks new.’

  ‘I am seeking a man to ruin me.’

  There. She had said it. Said it in such a cool, dispassionate way that it shocked her to hear her own words. The last bridge was burned, the secret was out… and Richard Oaks knew it.

  She was meant to feel frightened. Not excited.

  ‘I can’t possibly have heard correctly.’ Richard’s voice had sunk to a low, brazen purr that shivered over Serafine’s skin. ‘Did you say–’

  ‘Yes. I said what I said.’ Lord, only he had the power to make her forget herself quite so completely. Serafine turned back to him, her arms folded. ‘I am seeking a short, carnal encounter with a man I barely know, in order to break through the thick layer of ice that years of a loveless marriage has settled upon me. I am going to find someone over this brief period of days, I am going to have them seduce me, and then I am going to go home. I am never going to give my true name, the man certainly won’t give me his–we will be complete strangers to one another.’ She paused, glaring hard. ‘I imagine this news presents a tremendous piece of gossip. Kindly keep it to yourself.’

  To say that Richard looked like the cat that got the cream would be a magnificent understatement. ‘My lady. I’d say I never knew you had it in you, but I’ve always suspected.’

  ‘And I’ve always suspected that you would represent an enormous impediment to my flourishing at some unnamed future date. That date has arrived. You’re not going to leave this corridor and allow me to conduct my search for a suitable gentleman.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘You’re having far too much fun.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘You should stop it.’

  ‘And yet, you make it impossible.’

  ‘Stay a little longer with me, rather than begin the hunt.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I can help you with your quest.’

  ‘By doing something that will only increase your delight at my expense, no doubt.’

  ‘Nothing I do is at your expense. I do wish you’d believe me.’

  ‘From the way you’ve mercilessly teased women of my age in the past, I can only assume your behaviour when it comes to me is a new version of the same bloodsport.’

  ‘Not at all. There are other sports when it comes to you.’

  Really–the man was too much! Such words were all very well when there was a crowd of people around one, making them harmless, but this was something different. Something that made her heart flutter in her throat as she spoke. ‘I am returning to my rooms.’

  ‘I’d hate you to lose time for your very particular errand thanks to me. I don’t think I could live with that knowledge.’

  ‘Bow and take your leave of me, for goodness’ sake, or I’ll have to stand here all night.’

  ‘Oh, no. What a terrible thing that would be. Have we ever talked until dawn, my lady?’

  ‘We’ve certainly exchanged cutting comments with one another until the end of a ball.’

  ‘That’s not the same as talking until sunrise. But then, left to our own devices…’

  ‘Don’t trail off into mystery. Either take your leave or end the conversation as a gentleman would.’

  ‘Impossible, I’m afraid.’ Richard’s smile was positively lupine. ‘I was about to say that left to our own devices, we’d leave talking behind in favour of other pleasures long before sunrise.’

  Serafine bit her lip, restraining a gasp. Her conversations with Richard Oaks always strained the bounds of respectability, but this was something else entirely. Such a bold, open declaration of desire… why, she should slap his face and walk away.

  She wasn’t, of course. She was standing in much the same position as she had been a moment ago–if anything, she was leaning closer. With great effort of will she took a step backward, regarding him with as much coolness as she could muster. ‘I think that’s a little far.’

  ‘Oh, no. Don’t play the moral lady when you’ve just told me exactly why you’re in this corridor. If you’re allowed to speak of your own desires, then I’m allowed to speak of mine.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘Because I say so.’

  ‘Such bristling authority. You’re always in such command–I’d love to see that need for control in other contexts.’

  ‘It’s becoming evident that this conversation won’t end in a civilised manner. I’m returning to my rooms.’

  ‘How would you like this conversation to end?’

  ‘With a bow and a profuse apology. Or…’

  ‘Or a kiss?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because it could. We’re so very close. Right on the point of it, in fact…’

  ‘Goodnight, your Grace.’

  ‘Am I not even to learn which rooms you’ve taken?’

  ‘The most respectable rooms the hotel can offer. Far away from this corridor, and you, and–and my foolish plan.’ Serafine turned on her heel, Richard’s gaze burning into her back. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  Serafine walked back to her bedroom so quickly that she failed to notice Sarah at the end of the Blue Corridor. The maid stood still for a moment, waiting for the lady to go up the stairs without disturbance, before walking the length of the corridor with neatly clasped hands and a proud, orderly step.

  Only one gentleman attempted to pull her into the billiard room, and the resulting stare he received was enough to have him shrinking away and muttering apologies. Giving another stare so withering that it could have frozen fire, Sarah continued on to the servants’ quarters unmolested.

  The kitchen was a tremendous bustle, as it always was in an establishment of the Grand Hotel’s size. Orderly fleets of maids trotted across the flagstones bearing innumerable varieties of dishes destined for their masters: lemon ice, baked turtle, celery soup, and so many different glasses of alcohol that Sarah could never have guessed the types, not even with the promise of payment. Looking narrowly at each dish, occasionally removing a stray sprig of parsley or wiping the rim of a plate, was Pascale–a chef who fortunately had an abundance of French talent to go with his abundance of French drama.

  ‘I will leave tomorrow.’ The man dramatically sighed as he placed the smallest spoonful of cream in a cup of coffee resting on a silver tray. ‘My nerves are finished. I’m at the very end of my wits.’

  ‘Another complaint, Pascale?’

  ‘That idiotic woman in the Rose Suite said that her rabbit was overcooked! It was practically still moving when I put it on the plate–you are all philistines, every last one of you!’

  ‘Apart from me.’ A little of Sarah’s frostiness came back into her stare. Pascale’s fingers quivered as he handed the tray to a nearby maid. ‘Correct?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘And you won’t be leaving tomorrow morning, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘I don’t know. The Bentham Hotel wants me–and the Rillion.’

  ‘And they won’t pay you nearly as much as the Grand does.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because if you’re foolish enough to try and leave this place without adequate notice, I’ll make a personal pilgrimage to every hotel in this part of London and tell them that you worked for practically nothing. That your love of the work was so great, you barely needed remuneration.’

  ‘You’re–you’re quite evil.’

  ‘Yes. But I am effective.’ Sarah picked up a cup of coffee that Pascale hadn’t poured cream into yet, and gave a small, tight smile as she drained it. ‘I do hope everything goes well tonight.’

  The chef let out a short but powerful stream of invective that Sarah couldn’t quite catch, despi
te her excellent knowledge of French. Increasing the brightness of her smile, accidentally and yet entirely on purpose nudging a small saucepan onto the hottest part of the range, she vanished into the hallowed sanctum of the butler’s hall before Pascale could notice what she had done.

  ‘You’ve been bothering the chef again.’ Jonathan Harford, a butler whose youth hid years of both natural excellence and professional experience, smirked at Sarah. ‘You always look a little happier after you’ve teased him.’

  ‘He needs to be teased. He won’t work at his best if he isn’t nudged a little–I’m doing him a favour.’

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it.’ Jonathan poured a small glass of fortified wine, offering it to Sarah. Sarah refused; she never quite relaxed in the presence of colleagues, even if her friendship with Jonathan was one of the most important pieces of companionship she’d managed to collect in a somewhat staid life. ‘You’re never happier than when you’re badgering someone.’

  ‘I never badger. I suggest.’

  ‘Oh, yes. You’re definitely one for suggestions.’ Jonathan’s voice lowered a little. ‘At least six current female guests of this establishment have been following your particular suggestions. Are you not being a little ambitious?’

  ‘If they come with blushing cheeks and lowered voices asking about the Blue Corridor, how can I not proffer the very information they’re looking for? We can’t have dissatisfied customers.’

  ‘At the moment our customers are at risk of being entirely too satisfied. I worry that we’ll start appearing on those god-awful lists of brothels.’

  ‘No money’s changing hands, Mr. Harper. I’m sure of that. More ladies come to look, and more gentlemen come to be looked at–and more rooms and meals get sold. I fail to see the problem.’

  ‘No problem. For now.’ Jonathan sipped his wine with a quiet sigh. ‘And it’s hardly as if any really big names get involved in the gossip. Not in a way to attract censure, at any rate.’

  ‘Well.’ Sarah looked carefully at Jonathan before turning to the fire. ‘We may have been lucky on that score until now.’