The Duke's Daughter: The Daughters, #3

By Dama Beltrán

After his uncle's death, George Laxton travels to London to claim his title. However, the conditions outlined in the will are as harsh as the punishments he endured during his uncle's lifetime. Bound by a promise, he seeks a woman from high society who can help him secure his inheritance and accept the darkness that haunts him.

Fate intervenes when Tricia Rutland, the daughter of the Duke of Rutland, crosses his path. Despite being seemingly incompatible, Tricia's radiant spirit captivates George. Despite his attempts to distance himself, Tricia persists, leading to a scandal that seals their intertwined destinies.

How will Tricia confront the truths George conceals? Can her love illuminate the darkness that envelops him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dama Beltrán
• Release date: May 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224313785

Book preview

Prologue

London, February 14, 1888. Hyde Park.

He couldn't believe it! It was a nightmare! How could the old man do such a thing? Hadn't he lived long enough in hell? No, of course not. Old Oliver Burkes wouldn’t die without making it clear that his wishes were laws for others, which is why he wrote such a cruel will. There was no middle ground in it: either you took it or left it. As his uncle lay on his deathbed, he planned his future; He thought the humiliations were finally over and that it was time for a deserved peace. He was wrong, just like when he accepted Oliver's proposal when he was only thirteen. He thought that this unknown relative, with a wide smile, could help him survive the loss of his parents. He didn’t. He lost his soul when he set foot on Lambergury.

George folded the papers the lawyer gave him and put them in the right pocket of his coat. I hope you rot in hell, you fucking bastard! He shouted looking at the sky. Then he bowed his head, sighed with resignation, and began to walk. He was twenty-eight years old, of which fifteen were spent in that horrible house. He was subjected to the demands of a tyrant for more than a decade, one who continued his oppression from beyond. Although he thought his nightmare was over, it was not. Angrily, he raised the lapels of his coat and walked slowly down the street. He paid no attention to the vehicles passing nearby, nor to the murmurs of the people. His mind was still focused on what he kept in his pocket: a copy of the last will of the world's greatest bastard. He clenched his fists, angry that he couldn't find a solution. If he hadn't made that promise to Blanche, everything would be different. But she was the only person who cared for him, who offered him the comfort, kisses, and hugs that a child needed to survive. And she paid a high price. The last time Blanche asked him not to hit her anymore, telling him that he was too young to feel the lashes of a stick on his back, he suffered the anger of the miserable in its own flesh.

George kept walking despite closing his eyes and seeing Blanche roll down the stairs again. He remembered her lying on the floor, her hands resting on her bulging belly. She was silent, looking at him sadly as the skirt of her dress stained with blood. Oliver did not approach to help her. It was he, a beardless young man, useless and with an uneasy conscience, who came down quickly. Someone left the residence to call Dr. Rickley, who came as soon as possible, but not in time to save the baby. That tiny being had passed away in its mother's womb.

He didn't know exactly what happened next, as he was locked in his room. Nonetheless, he knew the old man had dragged her out of bed and taken her to the dungeon, where he imprisoned her. He wanted to run and check on her, but one of the servants stopped him, explaining that she wouldn't want him to risk himself for her. Three days later, his worst nightmare came true. Blanche had perished in that dark and damp place. Then, the scoundrels Clarke and Madden emerged, swearing under oath that Burkes had cared for her until her demise. No one dared to reference what truly occurred, not even him. From the afternoon of her burial, alongside her stillborn children born during their marriage, he was left alone with that malevolent being and a vow to fulfill.

A cold breeze that numbed his face brought him back to the present. What should he do? He could abandon everything and start anew. He had a few contacts, albeit limited, as his uncle had eliminated those he deemed unsuitable. He could reach out to them and explain his predicament. Perhaps one of them would offer the solution he sought, though they might ridicule him. Yes, that option also existed... How many young individuals, pressured by their relatives, were coerced into marriage to attain the power and wealth they desired? But they hadn't lived with a monster.

He had earned, through tears, sweat, and blood, what he couldn't obtain now unless he found a wife of respectable morality. Too bad the old man had included that accursed clause! Did he know him so well to emphasize that they must be worthy or decent ladies? If his uncle hadn't devised such a stipulation, he would visit the first brothel he encountered and propose to one of the prostitutes in exchange for a fair sum. Then, once the lawyer confirmed the marriage and he secured what was rightfully his, he would divorce the woman and... he would live! But that was unfeasible. Oliver had ensnared him by stipulating that, once married, they must reside in Lambergury for the first three years. During that time, an heir had to be born, and if anyone accused him of impropriety, all he had inherited would pass to the firstborn.

He had no voice or say in his own life unless he relinquished everything. He blurted out, and nearby people turned to hear him. Would so much sacrifice be worthwhile? What if he reneged on the vow? Would Blanche forgive him? Don't let him destroy you and become the next Earl of Burkes. When you succeed, rid yourself of the evil that bears that name and transform it into something beautiful, prosperous, and noble. I know you will, George, because I have great faith in you. How could he fulfill the vow if the old man had predetermined his fate? Damn his uncle! Damn his parents for dying! And... damn the vow he needed to uphold!

While he was still lost in his thoughts, torn between duty and desire, he walked absentmindedly and failed to notice a young woman approaching, her gaze fixed upon the sky. Neither of them was aware of each other's presence until... they collided. Involuntarily, George reached out to prevent her from falling to the ground. Simultaneously, Tricia grabbed the lapels of his coat to steady herself.

Pardon me! I beg your pardon, Laxton said as both bodies came to a halt, standing side by side. He fixed his gaze on the agitated figure in his arms, who remained frozen as if time had stood still. He observed her, admired her, and relished the moment. That's what he did! The delicate body pressed against him was as fragile as flower petals. His eyes, awakened by the sudden sensation of tranquility, as if he had found solace in a calm and welcoming home, continued to roam over her, although his gaze lingered longer than proper on her neckline.

Aren't you going to look me in the eye, sir? The young woman chided him.

Unable to suppress a mischievous smile, the kind he displayed when admiring a beautiful woman, he let his gaze trail down her neck, her chin, her lips... beautiful lips! So red and voluptuous that he yearned to taste them in that moment. What would such a wonderful mouth taste like? What flavors hid within? It would undoubtedly be a delicacy, a delicious and savory treat that he would eagerly savor. Unfortunately for the young woman, he had been starved since he parted ways with his lover six months ago.

Hello? Are you deaf? The girl asked, still holding onto him, as the stranger continued to fixate on her mouth and inhale her perfume, as if that alone sustained him.

Tricia's intuition wasn't wrong. George was on the verge of burying his nose between her neck and collarbone to continue reveling in the beautiful reverie she provided him. The scent of blackberries, wild fruits, transported his mind to the past, when his parents were still alive. He saw his mother beside him, playing in the garden, laughing as she discovered that her husband, from whom they were hiding, had found them. She threw herself into his arms and kissed him, just as she always did whenever she saw him. Their laughter, their happiness, the adoration they both felt, and... him. The sole witness to that unwavering love.

He tried to turn away from the stranger to end the beautiful reverie, but couldn't. He needed to relive that experience, the one where he was happy, the one filled with hope, where nothing and no one mattered except continuing under the protection of parents he loved.

Gentleman? Tricia blurted out, somewhat concerned.

Again, I apologize, said George at last. He stretched out his arms to free the young woman and rid himself of his painful memories. He took a step back and gazed at her face. The clouds that drifted over the London sky suddenly descended to gather at the feet of the young woman. There was neither darkness nor shadows, only light. The same light that emanated from her bright and innocent brown eyes, capable of guiding a ship to the nearest port in the middle of a dark night.

You are excused, she replied with a smile. And everything around him ceased to exist.

I was distracted, he said, searching for the best way to recover from such an absurd daze.

I was too, said the girl, her beautiful smile never leaving her wonderful mouth.

He was so stunned that all he could do was stare at her as if she were the only woman in the world. What was happening to him? Why had his body gone cold when he separated from her?

Have a good day, he said by way of farewell, touching the brim of his hat.

I'm Tricia, Tricia Mamners, she said, grasping his strong left forearm with one hand.

For some strange reason, Tricia's heart urged her to keep him by her side for a few more moments, long enough to find out why it was beating so fast.

Miss Mamners, you shouldn't talk to strangers, much less grab them like that in public. You don't know what people might think, he said with an amused tone, finding it funny that she was so daring despite the image of a candid and demure young woman she projected.

Sir...

Laxton, George Laxton. I will become Lord Burkes soon, though, he warned, hoping the title would drive her away. But it didn't. The girl looked at him with such warmth that the burdens associated with that damn title inexplicably disappeared. Regardless of what was happening around him, George stepped forward and tenderly stroked her cheek. Instead of turning away or rebuking him for such a bold and improper act, she closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

You are a delight, Miss Mamners, he whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from her face, her expression of delight, and noticing how she breathed agitatedly, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Could life give him a break? Could he ever dream of having an angel like her by his side? When the young woman slowly opened her eyes, George wished time would stop so he could continue reveling in the purity of her gaze.

Milady! A female voice shouted as she turned the corner.

Milady? George repeated, pulling his hand away. He stepped back again, breaking the magic that had lasted for a few moments.

Yes, George, that's what they often call me because I'm the daughter of the Duke of Rutland, she explained somewhat heatedly. He had touched her in public! He had stroked her face! And what did she do? Stayed still and felt that caress.

Rutland? Are you a Rutland? He said, stunned. How beautiful her name sounded on those lips, from that beautiful mouth. But if what he heard was true, the sweet reverie would become yet another nightmare to add to his life if he didn't get away from her as soon as possible.

Yes, she stated again. Have you heard of my father? Do you know him? Tricia asked expectantly.

I know him well enough to ask you to forget this meeting. I don't exist for you. Good afternoon, Lady Tricia Rutland, he said before walking away, leaving her in the middle of the street with the word in his mouth. The shine of those brown eyes, the most beautiful he had ever seen, was gone.

Tricia was unable to say anything as she watched him leave. Didn't he have any Mampers? Yes, he did, but something happened when he heard her father's last name. Would they know each other? If so... since when? Because she would never have forgotten a face like that. Actually, she wouldn't have forgotten anything about him. She closed her eyes, brought her gloved hands up to her nose, and breathed in the scent George had left behind. Amidst the daze, she snapped them open and looked at the place where he had left. He had vanished like mist before the sun came, leaving her cold and sad.

Milady, who was that gentleman? Why did you allow him to speak to you without my presence? Angela, her lady-in-waiting, spoke agitatedly in a hasty English.

No one important, she said.

What about your hat? Have you found it?

No. The wind must have transported it somewhere in the park, she said, turning to her companion.

She didn't care where the hat had gone, only about the mysterious gentleman. Who was George Laxton? What was he doing in London? Would they meet again? Yes! Of course, they would! She would see to that. Rutland blood ran through her veins, and according to her father, nothing and nobody could stop what they set out to do.

I

London, March 14. Hamber residence

I still disagree with the decision you've made, Beatrice said to her daughter once the carriage parked in the sprawling Hamber garden. While the hosts' lackeys tended to the guests who arrived before them, the duchess took advantage of the moment to find out why Tricia had decided to accompany them to the party. If her suspicions were true, the little girl was up to something important and, knowing her as she did, she had to prepare for whatever might happen.

Why? She asked, turning to her. Have you not insisted, since I returned, that I attend the social events in which the presence of the Rutland was requested?

But for this one, they had only asked for your father's presence and mine, Beatrice stressed.

And what is the problem in joining us? The Hamber will be delighted to see her again and this will also dispel the rumor that runs on our youngest daughter, said William.

What rumor? Tricia wanted to know, looking at her father.

Everyone thinks that in Spain you suffered from smallpox and that you do not appear in public because the marks of that disease destroyed your beautiful face, the duke replied after giving her a tender kiss on the cheek.

William... his wife scolded him for not being able to reason objectively when the subject to discuss was the youngest of his daughters. If Tricia asked him to jump off a balcony and fly away, he would do so without erasing that look of a proud father.

For the love of God! The girl exclaimed, rolling her eyes. I only had stopped at home to sleep and have breakfast! What happens is that I prefer to talk with my friends than to suffer the torture of dealing with such bore and arrogant people.

If you really think that, why did you come? What is special about this party for you? Beatrice insisted.

You know I adore the Hamber... Tricia began, using her sweet girly voice and candid smile to calm her mother's concerns.

And? The duchess persevered without falling into the trap.

And although this type of event is unbearable to me, I am aware that I must return to the social life I left before leaving London. The Rutland's must continue with the legacy of courtesy and kindness that has characterized us for centuries, she assured without even batting an eye. She wasn't lying to them. It was true that she wanted to start a new stage in her life. One in which George Laxton had a very important role. Where the hell had he been since they met? Four desperate weeks had passed since that afternoon, and as much as she tried, they had not encountered each other again.

She found out who he was through the society newspaper: the son of Mr. Laxton, an aristocrat who, after marrying a maid, left London to live his love away from the depraved London society. After the death of both, the couple's only son was under the protection of the father's younger brother, the Earl of Burkes. For many, a monster, for others, an example of rectitude and distinction to idolize. He lived in Lambergury until the earl passed away. As she heard, because no one could stop talking about him, he came to London in search of a wife and, to his dismay, everything indicated that he had found her. But he couldn't marry without first meeting her, much less boring Sarah Preston. That madness must be ended immediately! So, she went to the party without being invited, to settle the matter. To her disgrace, her mother suspected that she was up to something. Thank God she had no idea what she planned to do tonight, if she had found out, she would have locked her in her room with twenty locks and forty padlocks.

Tricia looked at her parents and contained a deep sigh. Poor little ones! They would faint when she carried out her plan! But she couldn't help it, her attraction to George was so inexplicable that she had no choice. She tried, she really tried to forget about him, even if that attempt only lasted a second. She could not, nor did she want to, stop feeling the touch of that strong hand on her face, forget the chemistry that emerged when they were together, nor did she want to get rid of that peculiar and masculine scent. She even kept the gloves under the mattress so no one would touch or wash them! Despite this, the captivating perfume disappeared over the days. However, she kept remembering him, kept breathing him every time he appeared in her mind. How to remove from her head his mischievous smile, his lips, his pearly teeth and a gray look more beautiful than spinel? Not! Of course, she couldn't stay home without doing anything about it!

Tricia? Her father's question brought her out of her thoughts.

Not everything, she replied with her usual smile.

Are you sure? William insisted, raising his right eyebrow. What had they asked him? What should I answer? She looked at her mother; she had crossed her arms and was frowning. God! Why couldn't she focus on anything other than him?

I was thinking of Amelie, she said by way of excuse.

Amelie? What does she have anything to do with choosing that dress? Beatrice asked in surprise.

Nothing, she smiled again. But I was counting the days until her first child is born. It has to be a unique experience, right? There should be nothing in the world as wonderful as feeling the growth of deep love within you.

Beatrice stopped breathing, and William blinked several times.

I can't answer that, said the duke, who after listening to her, his paternal instinct became alert. But I know that your mother was in real agony when she became pregnant with you. She vomited nonstop, couldn't smell anything sweet, and when I got close to her, she attacked me mercilessly.

Wow! she exclaimed, unable to erase the smile from her face. She reached out her hands to her mother's crossed arms and squeezed them lovingly. I have always been a torment to you.

You weren't a torment, Tricia, but a Rutland, Beatrice muttered, though she had to relax her features as she gazed at the sparkle in her young daughter's eyes.

And you must be very proud to be so, said the satisfied duke. I took care of solving all the misfortunes that our name entailed before you were born, he added, giving his wife a knowing smile.

Oh, don't even think about those years! the duchess scolded him.

What years? Tricia interjected, looking at one and then another. Are you referring to those whose father could not take her lovers' hands away?

Tricia! they both shouted at the same time.

What? There are people who still talk about it. And they have come to the conclusion that since father, uncle Frederick, and uncle Roger married, no man has been able to reclaim the skull appointment they achieved.

William laughed out loud, and his chest grew so wide that his vest went small while Beatrice kicked him on the left ankle to stop him from laughing.

Your father doesn't like remembering that time, she grumbled, glaring at her.

It wouldn't change anything that happened, said William, looking at his wife. I would repeat absolutely everything just to meet you again, he added before reaching out his hand to find his wife's.

II

Tricia watched the look her father gave her mother and how she responded with the same intensity and devotion. That was what she wanted, and she knew she was going to find it in George since when they had collided, those gray eyes of his expressed what his words couldn't. Still thinking about Laxton and what would happen during the evening, she waited for the coachman to open the door. As always, her father came out first. Then he reached out his helpful hand toward his wife. Never since she could remember has her mother suffered a single stumble when getting out of a carriage. The strength of that arm was more than enough to save her from tripping.

Once outside, Tricia looked around. The moment had come. At last, she would put into practice everything she had thought! She just hoped her hunch wasn't wrong. Don't leave our side until you find someone sensible to talk to, William asked his daughter once the servant helped him take off his coat. I will not part from her side. I will become her shadow, her mother asserted, wrapping an arm around her husband's and urging him to walk. I have the impression that he is lying to us. Me? Please, mother! How can you think that of me? she said with apparent regret while she handed over her coat to an employee. Because you are a... Rutland!" Tricia snorted before positioning herself, strategically, behind them. If her mother was not distracted, if she pursued her as she had sworn to do, she would achieve nothing of what she pondered and calculated. She had to find a way to get away from her and be with George for a few minutes, just enough to tell him that Sarah was not the wife he deserved and that after a week he would die of boredom. After being announced, the Hamber couple walked towards them to greet them. As they greeted her parents, she looked around the room. Their eyes moved from side to side, searching for him, and did not stop until they found him. It was then that everything disappeared for her. There was no more music, no voices, no human presences except his. She took a deep breath, so deep that the corset of her dress clung to her torso causing her pain. Had her mother asked her why she had chosen him? Because it was the ideal one for a conquest, for a hunt, for an unprecedented night. Besides, he was so handsome that she could forget to breathe and continue living just by looking at him.

Cheekily, the same as he had when they first met, she delighted in the perfect male image. The black suit, as required by the period of mourning, fitted his slim figure. For her it seemed strange that his shirt was white and his waistcoat, gray, a shade paler than his eyes. She forced her gaze away, to focus on someone else so her mother wouldn't quickly discover her intentions, but she couldn't. Her body was fighting a battle, one in which duty and pleasure fought to achieve their goal: the need to continue playing a role or the urge to have him close, to hear his voice, to inspire that smell that her gloves no longer had. She was going to suffer a torture; Until she could find the time when the two of them could be alone, she would suffer such anxiety that she would end up scratching the walls of the room. She took a deep breath, focused on the hosts, and smiled at them.

Tricia, my dear! Mrs. Hamber said as she held her arms out to her. You are… stunning.

Yes, of course she was! How could she not be if her cleavage left nothing to the imagination?

Thank you, Tricia replied, letting the good woman squeeze her body into a