The Detective Duke
Unexpected Lords
Book One
He was never meant to be a duke. She was always destined to be a duchess…
Grit, determination, and a will of steel have propelled Hudson Stone through life. No case he faced as Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard went unsolved. But nothing could have prepared the implacable investigator for inheriting a dukedom. Even more maddening than his ducal obligations is Lady Elysande Collingwood, the previous Duke of Wycombe’s betrothed. Worst of all, the debts Hudson has been bequeathed along with the title mean he needs to marry an heiress to save his estates from ruin, and the cheerful, dazzling Lady Elysande is the only one he knows.
Elysande was aware the last Duke of Wycombe was marrying her for her immense dowry, and she has no doubt his grim successor wishes to wed her for the same reason. But she has motives of her own for accepting the new duke’s offer. Never mind that he is harsh and unsmiling, with a reputation for ruthlessness. Their marriage of convenience suits her perfectly fine.
However, there is absolutely nothing convenient about the feelings she begins to develop for the forbidding man she married. When the shadows of Hudson’s past emerge, bringing them closer together, desire sparks. But with a dangerous villain on his heels, Hudson can’t afford to get too close to anyone. Too bad his icy heart has other ideas…
* * *
Chapter One
Late summer, 1886
Buckinghamshire, England
Undoubtedly,most men would have been elated by the unexpected and wholly unlikely inheritance of a dukedom.
Hudson Stone, formerly Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard, turned ninth Duke of Wycombe, was not one of them.
Feeling grim, he stared at the ledgers and correspondence spread across the desk, the numbers and letters and dire implications of which had long since begun to blur and lose their appeal.Hell.They had never held any appeal at all, if he were honest. He had not wanted to become a duke. All his life, he had wanted to solve crimes. He had dedicated himself to being the best damned detective possible.
And then the eighth Duke of Wycombe, a hale, hearty, and distant cousin he had not known he possessed had taken a tumble from his horse.
“Pray tell me, if you please, in plain speech, how bloody fucked I am, Saunders,” Hudson told the young steward facing him.
At his admittedly impolite request, the steward winced. “I do beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
“I beg yours,” he growled. Apparently, dukes did not use oaths, at least not in the presence of their hapless stewards. “Please cease referring to me asYour Grace. I prefer Stone. Wycombe if you must.”
Saunders extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to mop his sweating brow. “Wycombe, then.”
“Do I make you nervous, Saunders?” he asked, curious.
The man averted his gaze. “Of course not.”
He was lying, Hudson thought. He had conducted enough interviews with criminals to detect when a man was not being honest. Evading a man’s stare was a clear indication of guilt.
“Hmm,” he gave a noncommittal hum. “Does the entire roof need to be replaced on this monstrosity?”
“There is significant leakage in the eastern wing, and the—”
“A simple yes or no answer shall suffice,” he interrupted, consulting his pocket watch.
“Yes,” said Saunders, wiping his brow once more.
The last Duke of Wycombe had passed away in spring. But the line of succession had been, apparently, rather murky thanks to old family rifts between the sixth Duke of Wycombe and his son, Hudson’s grandfather. Hudson had carried on with his life, solving a very important case earlier that summer. Ultimately, no amount of praying he would not be deemed next in line had saved him, and he had been forced to leave his post and settle his life in London before arriving in Buckinghamshire to a dilapidated estate, countless debts, and severely depleted coffers.
But there was another matter facing him, one which was due to arrive in one quarter hour, that displeased him more than becoming the ninth Duke of Wycombe had. And that was no easy feat.
Hudson flicked his pocket watch closed and returned it to his waistcoat. “Have you any estimates on the replacement?”
Red stained the younger man’s cheekbones. “His Grace had not made attempts. I believe he was awaiting his nuptials.”
