Bound To Her Duke
By Christina Diane
He’s not just a duke. He’s her Daddy. And she’s about to discover how intoxicating it feels to belong to him.
When Lady Olivia Ashford’s nude portrait is exposed in a notorious gaming hell, her reputation is ruined. Only one man can shield her from disgrace—Victor Blackwood, the new Duke of Ravenswood.
But Victor doesn’t want a convenient wife. He wants agood girl. A duchess who will kneel when he commands, take her pleasure only when he allows, and surrender every inch of herself to his authority.
Olivia may be defiant, but under Victor’s control she discovers a forbidden desire she never expected: to belong, body and soul, to her Daddy Duke.
A darkly decadent Regency romance for readers who crave stern discipline, tender praise, scandalous surrender, and a hot duke.
Chapter One
Spring, 1819
London, England
Olivia
Lady Olivia Ashford stared at her father, the Duke of Harborough, her fingernails digging crescents into her palms. The painting lay between them on his desk like a declaration of war. She hadn’t given enough thought to the consequences when she had agreed to be drawn and painted nude.
She couldn’t bear to look at it sitting there before her father, mortified that he had even seen it at all. Thank heaven he had placed parchment over the most intimate areas.
“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” The duke’s voice cut through the silence, cold as January frost.
Olivia lifted her chin, fighting the urge to snatch up the painting and run from the room to never face her father again. Not that she didn’t adore him. She did. He could be controlling at times, but he’d always been a loving, yet stern, father to her and her siblings. But the humiliation of Papa viewing hernakedness burned almost as much as the scandal itself. “It was meant to remain private.”
“Private?” He slammed his palms against his desk as he rose from his chair, carefully avoiding touching the artwork, as though it would contaminate him. “This obscene painting was discovered hanging above the card tables at The Crimson Queen for every rake and libertine to ogle! Do you have any idea what this means?”
She flinched at the words but refused to cower. While she might have preferred that the men of London hadn’t seen it, she had quite liked the painting. It showed her entirely nude upon rumpled bed sheets, her breasts fully exposed. One arm draped provocatively above her head while the other hand rested low on her belly, drawing the eye downward. Her hair cascaded loose around her shoulders, and her lips were parted in unmistakable invitation. It had captured her sensual nature perfectly.
Olivia just hadn’t expected Edward Reynolds, the artist who had become her lover, to share the painting with anyone else.
She cursed the day she had met that dratted arse. It had been at an event hosted by Lady Hartford. With focused interest, he had peppered her with questions about her life—her family’s connections, her father’s work in Parliament, the distinguished guests who frequented their home. Never had she been the center of someone’s attention in that manner, and when he’d wanted to paint her, she was enamored with the man and readily agreed. And then when he proposed engaging in more intimate things with her, she didn’t refuse those either.
Reynolds had mentioned that he was in need of funds and would go away for a while. Looking back, she recalled his odd questions about her father’s political guests, particularly his interest in the military officers who visited their home.
And then the scandal broke out about her painting. It hadn’t taken a genius to figure out that the bastard sold the painting tosecure a bit of coin. So much for it being for his eyes alone or his desperate desire to capture her beauty.
“What’s done is done, Papa,” she said with a shrug. What else could she do? “People will forget, in time, when there is a fresh scandal to whisper about.”
Her father’s laugh held no humor. “I may be a duke, but there are still limits to my influence. You must appear respectable in the eyes of society. And that requires us to take immediate action.”
His tone sent a chill through her. “What action?”
“Marriage, of course.” He straightened a paper on his desk. “You’ll be wed before the month is out.”
“To whom?” The question emerged as barely a whisper.
“I’ve written to several suitable options. Men of good standing and title who might be persuaded to overlook this ... incident. For the right connections and dowry.”
Olivia’s stomach lurched. “What if I don’t wish to marry a man of your choosing? I am of legal age to decide.”
“Livie,” the duke started, his eyes softening, albeit only slightly. “You may be four-and-twenty, but you are still my daughter and you have a duty to this family. In time, you shall see that this is best for you.”
Olivia had spent her entire life seeking her father’s approval, craving the attention he lavished on her brothers, while she and her sister fought for his attention. His stern guidance had always made her feel safe. Perhaps that was why Reynolds’ focused attention had been so intoxicating.
