The Duke’s Desire by Margaret Moore

opinion, for it wasn’t only his valet who had expected him to resume his lascivious ways. Several married ladies he had sported with in his youth had already been shocked and angry when he had repelled their advances upon his return.
    But he meant what he said to Verity: he was a changed man, and he would not debase himself anymore.
    He would become the most respectable duke in the kingdom. He would do that not just for himself, but for Jocelyn’s sake, because one day, when she was older, he hoped he could tell her the truth and on that day, he didn’t want Jocelyn to be any more ashamed of him than she had to be because of his youthful misconduct.
    On further consideration, becoming the most respectable duke in the kingdom would be too easy. All that meant was not wasting his money, or gambling or drinking to excess or having mistresses.
    He must try to be as good and respectable as…as Verity’s husband had been.
    Damn Daniel Davis-Jones! How was he going to live up to a dead paragon?
    “It must be something to have the women rush to you like hawks to the lure,” Myron continued pensively.
    “It must be something to be such an excellent shot,” Galen replied, and it was no empty compliment. Myron had gotten his prey easily, always with one shot, and with a concentration that Galen had initially found astonishing.
    He would never have believed that the voluble Myron Thorpe was capable of such silent determination and single-minded attention.
    Myron beamed. “Practice, Your Grace, practice, that’s all. Why, I shoot every day it’s not positively raining.”
    “I wish I could say it was practice in my case, but unfortunately, it is only an accident of birth. If I were not a duke, I daresay my ‘flock’ would be considerably smaller.”
    “Nonsense! You’re a dashed good-looking fellow, too.”
    “Another accident of birth. You cannot claim to have seen women flocking here. Why, except for your servants, we have been a couple of old bachelors this week.”
    Myron smiled as if he were about to give Galen his heart’s desire. “Ah, but not for much longer!”
    They entered the back entrance of the manor, the sound of their boots echoing in the large stone foyer. Totally oblivious to the mud he tracked across the flagstones, Myron’s eyes twinkled with pleasure as he sat on a wooden bench. “Can you guess what I’m getting at?”
    “Let me try,” Galen replied warily, subduing a sigh as he regarded his delighted friend and handed his gun to one of the many footmen who appeared in answer to Myron’s booming voice, which seemed even louder in the cavernous entrance way. “You have female relatives about to descend upon your hunting lodge. If so, they must have made speedy preparations to get here so quickly.”
    Giving his gun to another of the footmen, Myron chuckled. “Not my female relatives. I was too dashed clever to tell ’em, for a sillier lot I nevermet. Well, except for Charity, but she prefers her books anyway. Hates men.”
    Galen did not pay much heed to Myron’s description of the women of his family. “Are you telling me some of my relatives are coming here?”
    “Exactly!” Myron cried happily as he lifted up his foot so that yet another of the footmen could help him remove his muddy boots. “Lady Bodenham.”
    Galen wanted to groan. “And George?”
    “Gad, yes! Bringing his best hounds, too. I’ve been after him to lend me one for breeding forever.”
    “I didn’t know you knew him.”
    “Met him at Newmarket one year. Bit mad for his dogs, of course, but that’s understandable.”
    Galen didn’t think the often-neglected Eloise would agree, but the state of his cousin’s marriage was less important to him than what Eloise’s visit might mean. Surely she would want to see Verity, and perhaps Myron would invite her to his house.
    “Your cousin also asked if she could bring her charming young friend, Lady Mary,” Myron said with what was surely meant for a sly grin.