Page 1 of Raising the Duke’s Unexpected Twins

CHAPTER 1

“It’s a wonder they thought Shakespeare the most appropriate theme for a child’s birthday. Forbidden love, murder, tragedy. Not exactly child-approved reading,” Nicholas Merrick, the Duke of Meinster, muttered under his breath.

He took another sip of wine, rather wishing he was at home in bed in London than dressed as Macbeth on the edge of the busy Riverton ballroom in Surrey, awaiting the arrival of his best friend David, Lord Riverton and his wife, Helen. This was the birthday party of their twin children, their second birthday, and for some strange reason, the parents had not yet arrived.

Nicholas pulled at the collar of his costume and threw back the rest of his wine, grabbing at another as a footman passed. Sometimes, parties made him itch, all that need for formality. But at least he could use the opportunity to see a number of beautiful young women not so…appropriately clad.

“Your Grace!” a woman called to him over the sound of music, approaching, her fan partially covering her face as she bent her head in greeting.

Nicholas would know the catlike shape of those eyes anywhere.

“Lady Rosemere,” he said, his mouth curling up at the corners, and her eyes instantly drew to his lips as he knew they would. “What a delight to see you here this evening.” He took the widow’s proffered hand and bent over it, placing a light kiss upon her knuckles. It was always a delight, for she was beautiful and seductive, both lovely in bed and out of it.

The dark-haired woman gave a throaty laugh, folded her fan and leaned forward ever so slightly to offer him an excellent view of her decolletage.

“You are a cad, Your Grace.” She giggled again.

“Always.” He grinned. While he and the widowed Lady Rosemere had engaged in multiple liaisons over the years, he had his eye on a young singer across the way, her large bosom just a little more visible than was appropriate above her bodice. “If you’ll forgive me, my lady, I do have some preparations to assist Lord Riverton with.”

Lady Rosemere did not look pleased, but she bowed her head again, and he left her, sweeping into the crowd full of Shakespearean costumes, his mind focused on getting through the night even though he had pressing business back at the gambling den.

When he was halfway across the room, the young singer looked up, red-haired and red-cheeked and smiled at him, and Nicholas knew the conquest would be an easy one. It had always been so. But before he reached her, a sudden memory flashed before him in his mind’s eye. It was from a few years before, in that very ballroom, at another ball, and Nicholas had been about to do the very same thing – find a young lady with whom to entangle himself – but only for an evening.

David slapped him on the shoulder. “Before you go and woo your way through the crowd, I tell you, old friend – one of these days, you will find yourself ensnared by a lady whose mere gaze will make you fall to your feet. You will hang on her every word, and you would even lay down your life for her, just to keep her safe and happy.”

Nicholas paused as the memory faded, and the music from the very present ballroom flooded back to his mind. He was about to take another step, when two young ladies nearly collapsed into him, a frenzy of feathers and masks, and he held out his hands to steady them on their feet.

“Oh, thank you, Your Grace. Do forgive us,” the youngest one of them said, her brown curls bouncing with each word she spoke as she stood to face him with a bright smile.

“Ladies, it is no trouble,” he replied smoothly, a practiced, flirtatious grin on his face. “It is only right that a gallant gentlemen should come to rescue damsels in distress.”

The two of them giggled, their lace gloves covering their mouths. So very young and innocent they were. They had no real understanding of the world, not yet. It was not unusual for Nicholas to experience young ladies throwing themselves in his way to speak to him without an introduction. He was always charming and kind, but he knew they did not understand how close to ruin they came just by speaking to him.

“You are Macbeth, are you not, Your Grace?” the other young lady asked, her cheeks blooming red.

“Why yes I am, of course. You know your Shakespeare.”

“I adore him!” the girl cried, her eyes widening before her cheeks reddened further.

He was about to reply when he felt it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched. His gaze instinctively swept across the ballroom, and he already suspected who he would find before his eyes landed on her.

There she was.

Miss Cordelia Debrett stood a short distance away, dressed in a ragged, ridiculous costume that did nothing to disguise how beautiful she was. Her eyes were fixed on him, and for a moment, neither of them looked away.

The corner of Nicholas’s mouth lifted into a slow, knowing smirk.

Of course it was Cordelia.

There was something about the eldest daughter of the deceased Viscount Valeton that always seemed to draw his attention, no matter how many other distractions surrounded him. And judging by the way she was watching him now, perhaps she had been just as aware of him.

“Ladies, I fear I must leave you,” he said smoothly, turning back to the two young women. “It has been a pleasure.”

“But, Your Grace⁠—”

He gave them a charming smile before stepping away, his attention already returning to Cordelia.

Her eyes remained on him.