The Duke of Defiance (The Untouchables #5)
Darcy Burke
For my bestie Elisabeth
You inspire me in so many ways, plus you’re just damn fun.
Chapter 1
London, March 1817
“I wanted to tell you our exciting news.”
Joanna Shaw’s belly sank. She could well imagine what news her sister Nora had to share. “Are you expecting another child?” She was proud of how she kept her tone free of anguish or…jealousy.
Nora nodded, her lips spreading into a wide smile. “Titus is thrilled.”
Happiness swelled inside Jo, and she felt horrible for allowing even a moment’s upset. After everything Nora had been through in her youth, she deserved this and so much more. She’d overcome a scandal and was now happily married—to a duke who adored her—with a beautiful family. It was a dream come true.
It had certainly been Jo’s dream.
Just then, three children darted into the drawing room. The three-year-old boy was in the lead, shrieking in what sounded like glee as two girls—both five years old—chased him with odd-shaped pieces of wood clutched in their small hands.
Nora smiled, uncaring that they’d burst into the room. She and her husband, Titus, doted on their children, and it showed. Christopher and Rebecca possessed a joy for life and a freedom of expression that warmed Jo’s heart. When she thought of how her own children, if she’d had any, would’ve been treated by their father…well, it was perhaps best that she was barren.
The nurse, a cheerful woman in her fifties, stepped into the room, her gaze landing on the children, now squealing as the girls chased Christopher around one of the settees. She exhaled and looked to Nora. “Your Grace?”
Nora chuckled. “It’s fine. We’ve got them. Evie’s father will be here soon anyway.”
With a nod, the nurse turned and left, no doubt having earned a respite.
Jo pivoted on her chair so that she could see the children, who were at a bit of a stalemate on the other side of the room. Christopher, his chest heaving, stood in front of the settee, while the girls were behind it, their heads bent together just visible over the back.
“Mama, they’re plotting something,” Christopher called. He didn’t turn his head to look at his mother. Jo didn’t blame him since it was clear they were plotting something.
Jo stood and walked toward her nephew. “Are you playing pirates again?” Since coming to stay with Nora and her family a few weeks ago, she’d come to know Christopher and Becky quite well. She recognized the “weapons” the girls carried as their pistols. They’d tried swords, but Nora had put a stop to them running around with sticks.
Becky spared her aunt a quick glance, her hazel eyes narrowed with intent. “Yes. We’re deciding how to make Christopher walk the plank when we catch him.”
Christopher dashed to Jo’s side and clutched her hand. “I don’t want to walk the plank.”
Jo gave his fingers a squeeze. “Of course not. How about some cakes instead?”
His hazel eyes lit and the tip of his tongue darted over his lips. “Yes, please, Auntie.”
Chuckling, Jo guided him back to where his mother was sitting. A tea tray, stacked with cakes and biscuits, perched on the table.
Christopher climbed onto his mother’s lap and reached for a cake.
Nora helped him get situated as he gleefully ate. “I’m surprised you didn’t come here straightaway. Too preoccupied with avoiding your sister and her new friend, I’m sure.”
“How are we to make him walk the plank now?” Becky wailed from across the room.
“Find something else to do,” Nora said, smiling at her daughter. “Show Evie your favorite book.”
The book—an illustrated guide to the plants and birds of England—sat on the table near the tea tray. Becky ran to grab it, along with two biscuits, and a moment later, the two girls were sprawled in the corner happily eating and perusing the tome.
Nora gazed at them the way a mother looks at her children: with a love so palpable that the entire room seemed to glow with it. “I’m so glad she’s found a friend her age. It’s quite fortuitous that we met her father.”
“How did you make his acquaintance?”
“His godmother is Lady Dunn, and as you may recall, she’s a friend of Genie’s.” Genie was Lady Satterfield, Nora’s mother-in-law. “He’s newly returned to England since inheriting his title and doesn’t really know anyone. He left ages ago—fifteen years, I think—and never meant to return. He’s the third son and is now the earl.”
“Knightley?” Jo asked, trying to recall the name she’d heard in passing earlier.
“Knighton. His seat is on the Welsh border.” Nora held on to Christopher as he leaned forward for another cake. “Just one more,” she said softly.
“That would be a shock,” Jo mused. “To be the third son and manage to inherit the title. Where has he been?”
“The tropics. He owns a sugar plantation.”
“How exotic.” Jo couldn’t imagine such a place. She’d never left England. This was, in fact, only her third trip to London. She’d lived quite a sheltered life in their tiny village of St. Ives.