Ten Rules for Marrying a Duke

By Michelle McLean

Bookish Arabella Bromley never gave a fig for society’s rules—until her sister ran off with a man below her station. Now Arabella is desperate to restore her family’s ruined reputation to favor amongst the ton.She’ll have to marry quickly and well. But in order to carry off her plan, Arabella needs a duke…and she has just the rakish fellow in mind.

The Duke of Whittsley has an ungentlemanly tendency to disregard the rules. Unfortunately, a sense of mischief doesn’t excuse a high-ranking noble from family duty—especially where it concerns producing a son. And that’s where he can’t quite resist Arabella’s distinctly outrageous plan: if he saves her family, she’ll give him an heir.

Now the deal’s been struck. They have one year to achieve their goals and ten iron-clad rules to keep them on track. Like long, scorching kisses and ensuring they’re both exquisitely satisfied. And the only thing that could ruin their plan is the one thing they never planned on: love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Feb 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781649372499

Book preview

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

The Revised Rules

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Michelle McLean…

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Michelle McLean. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

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Shrewsbury, PA 17361

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Scandalous is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Lydia Sharp and Liz Pelletier

Cover design by Bree Archer

Cover photography by Period Images

Jeremy D. Smith/Getty Images

ISBN 978-1-64937-249-9

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition February 2022

To all those who believe rules were made to be broken.

(Except for the ones I make for my kids…you two better follow those!)

Chapter One

A respectable lady would never blackmail her way into matrimony.

The Honorable Miss Arabella Bromley glanced at Charlotte—The Right Honorable Lady Waterstack, if one wanted to be fussy about it—and rolled her eyes.

Yes, my dear Charlotte, you are quite correct. However, what I am about to do is less blackmail and more bargaining, from my point of view. Besides, the question of my respectability is what created the necessity for this small deception in the first place.

Charlotte folded her arms and sat back against the carriage cushions. You had, until recently I’ll grant you, excellent marriage prospects. If you’d had any desire to take advantage of them.

Which I did not, Arabella said, pushing her spectacles up her nose so she could keep her eyes glued to the window and the doorway beyond it, through which her salvation would hopefully be exiting. Any moment now. And now it’s too late. My family’s reputation is in tatters, and I’ll never get a husband who can help me fix this whole mess short of some sort of trickery. Well…trickery is the wrong word…

What would be the right word, then? Charlotte smiled sweetly at her, but Arabella didn’t buy it for a second. Charlotte at her sweetest was very dangerous indeed.

Arabella didn’t answer her but went back to watching the door.

She wasn’t any happier about her present course of action than Charlotte. Decidedly less so. But her choices were limited and her problems plentiful, and she would do what must be done.

The moment her eldest sister, Alice, had eloped with their groom, Arabella’s desires ceased to matter. What mattered now was getting their younger sister Anne suitably wed. A prospect that seemed nearly impossible now that their family name was irreparably tarnished. No one wanted to marry the sister of a woman with so little regard for herself, her family, and her position in life that she would hastily marry someone so far beneath her. They looked at the pretty and vivacious Anne and assumed that she must be just as flighty and morally bankrupt as her sister. If not more so. She’d never find a suitable match. At least not one who would make her happy and give her the comfort and status in life she deserved.

As for Arabella…well, no one had ever looked at or thought of her much. Which was how she preferred it. She would be quite content as a dried-up old spinster, alone in a quiet room with her books.

But this wasn’t about what she wanted anymore. Anne had been inconsolable since Alice had eloped and the invitations began to dry up.

What they needed was a champion. A high-ranking champion no one would dare cross, who could ease them back into society’s good graces and facilitate a suitable, and perhaps even advantageous, match for Anne.

And Arabella knew just the man. Silas Spencer, Duke of Whittsley. A distant cousin to the Queen, he was of a rank and status far above Arabella’s own, despite her baronet father and relatively wealthy family. He was a bit rakish and too unserious for Arabella’s tastes, but his background was impeccable, and his opinions carried great weight. If he accepted the Bromleys, society would follow. And no one would dare besmirch or shun his wife or in-laws.

Ari, Charlotte said, leaning forward to get her attention. If you insist on this absurdity, surely there are more suitable gentlemen to ask.

Arabella shook her head. A more suitable gentleman wouldn’t deign to listen to me, let alone go along with it.

And you think he will?

Arabella hesitated before answering. I think I have a better chance of convincing him than I do anyone else. He’s a bit eccentric, a prankster. A scheme like this might pique his interest, at least long enough to hear me out.

Charlotte sat back with a huff. That may be so, but I still do not see why you think he will actually agree to your plans.

Because, while there is certainly no shortage of women who would happily marry him—women who are, I’ll admit, more suited to life as his duchess—he has made no secret of the fact that he has absolutely no interest in marriage. The last thing he wants is a wife as a permanent fixture on his arm.

And this makes him perfect in your plot to get married, how exactly?

Arabella smiled. He still needs an heir. He is the last male descendant in his line. Unless he produces a son, his title will revert to the Crown. Even he can’t shirk his familial duty forever. To get a legitimate heir, he’ll have to wed.

And unlike the throngs of women vying to be his wife, you want as little to do with him as he, presumably, wants to do with you?

Exactly.

Charlotte closed her eyes and rubbed her brow. Your logic is making my head fit for cracking.

Arabella shoved her spectacles back up on her nose and smiled. She did tend to have that effect on poor Charlotte.

It’s simple, Charlotte. Most women marrying someone of his stature will want to take advantage of their new position. They’ll want to be seen, paraded around the country, soaking up the prestige and attention that comes with being the Duchess of Whittsley. And rightly so. But for a man who does not wish for a wife, this is surely a daunting prospect. I, however, would not only happily accept exile in the country, but I shall insist upon it. Once he helps my sister, of course.

And once you conceive an heir.

Arabella grimaced. Right. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the riot in her stomach at the thought of what she must to do uphold her end of the bargain. In any case, I’ll make no additional demands upon him. Once Anne is suitably wed, and…an heir is conceived…then we can go our separate ways. We’ll both get what we need and then get back to our own lives.

Charlotte shook her head. I still think this is recklessly ill-advised.

Arabella grinned. Quite possibly. But that doesn’t mean it won’t work. She looked back out the window. Assuming I can speak with him without causing another horrendous scandal.

Charlotte snorted delicately. Good luck with that.

Before Arabella could say anything else, the door of the townhouse in front of which they waited opened, and she sat up with a gasp, her hand on the carriage door handle.

There he is.

Her heart pounded in her throat. She had to time this perfectly. Alight too early and she might get a tip of the hat, but they could hardly converse in the street. Too late, and she’d miss her chance altogether. No, she had to time this…just…right…

Another few steps would bring the duke right in front of the carriage. All she needed to do was fake a tumble and fall gracefully at his feet. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

Arabella closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and threw the carriage door open. Then she lurched forward as her dress caught on her boot heel, sending her careening out onto the street with a squeal of dismay.

…

Silas wasn’t quite sure what happened. One moment, he’d been turning onto the sidewalk outside his townhouse, and the next, his arms were full of a squirming ball of feminine frippery.

Hello, there, he said, trying to set her to rights as quickly as possible while she batted at her skirts like they were attacking her.

He set her back on her feet, straightening her hat and handing her the spectacles that had been hanging from one dainty ear. But the moment she put weight on her ankle, her face drained of color and her mouth opened in a soundless gasp.

Op! Careful, he said, reaching for her again. He knew he was being terribly forward, but he couldn’t exactly let her crumple to the street.

Ari! Another woman with bouncy blond ringlets stuck her head out from the carriage before quickly alighting. Are you all right?

Fine, the woman in his arms said, though her voice was strained.

I believe you might have injured yourself, he said. I live just here. Perhaps it would be best…

That would be wonderful, the blond woman said, answering before the injured woman could say a word.

Lady Waterstack, he said, finally recognizing her.

Your Grace. She gave him a faint smile, though her eyes kept straying to her friend. This is a dear friend of mine, Miss Arabella Bromley.

Bromley, he asked, raising an eyebrow. Lord Durborough’s daughter?

Yes, I am Lord Durborough’s daughter, the woman answered before Lady Waterstack could.

He gazed down into a pair of warm brown eyes, the gold flecks around the irises highlighted by the gold rims of the spectacles perched on the end of her rather blunt nose. She noticed him looking and quickly took them off, shoving them into the pocket of her skirts.

She needn’t be self-conscious about them. Far from detracting from her looks, they added an interesting focal point to her face. Under normal circumstances, he’d point that out, but she seemed rattled enough as it was without him drawing attention to something that obviously caused her discomfort. At least at the moment.

Even without the spectacles lending some charm to her face, she had rather attractive features. When considered separately. Full pink lips. Cheekbones high enough to save her face from roundness but not so much as to appear sharp. Soft blond hair that seemed to have a tendency toward waviness, if the tendrils that had escaped from their pins were any indication.

And those eyes. Those velvety brown eyes that, upon closer inspection, also held hints of green, and more importantly, shone with intelligence and, at the moment, annoyance.

Yes, taken one at a time, they were very pleasing features indeed. Yet somehow, when observed as a whole, the picture became somewhat…muddled. Though perhaps that was more due to the red splotches on her otherwise pale face. Or the fact that her eyes had narrowed, and her lips pinched. Distress did not agree with her.

He belatedly realized that the poor woman might be distressed because he still had his arms around her in full view of the entire street and had been scrutinizing her for the last several moments when she was obviously in pain from her injured ankle.

He hastily stepped back, allowing Lady Waterstack to take his place. Please, I insist you come inside and rest your ankle for a moment.

Very well, she said. That is most kind of you, Your Grace.

He ushered them inside, his eyebrows rising again at the speed at which the ladies moved. It seemed Miss Bromley’s injured ankle might not be as injured as he had thought. Interesting…

Once she was settled on a sofa in his drawing room with her ankle propped up, Silas sent a servant out for tea.

Oh, look at the lovely plants. I think I’ll just…

Lady Waterstack gave her friend a hard look before quickly taking herself to the other end of the room where she wandered through the open doors and into the conservatory. She glanced back once before busying herself with a book she found on a table beside the door, giving them as much privacy as possible. She was still visible but decidedly out of earshot, leaving them, essentially, alone.

Intriguing, indeed.

Silas sat on the chair near Arabella. Now, Miss Bromley, how may I be of service to you?

She blinked at him, either confused or unsure how to proceed. He leaned forward slightly so he could speak quietly. Your acting skills require a bit more polish before you can debut them on the London stage, I’m afraid.

Her mouth dropped open in shock and he rubbed a finger across his lips to keep from smiling before continuing. As it is painfully obvious that you are not in true distress, physically at least, I can only deduce that you needed an audience with me for some reason. So, I ask again, how may I be of service?

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded and dropped her foot back to the floor, smoothing down her skirts. Then she stood and took a deep breath. You require an heir.

This time, he blinked up at her, momentarily flabbergasted. He tilted his head, looking her over. That is true. Are you offering to bear me one?

Her face flushed scarlet, but her head jerked in a quick nod. He sucked his lips between his teeth and bit down, trying to keep his face neutral. She could not be offering what she seemed to be. But since the cheeky little thing was in his parlor, offering to bear his children, and, he presumed, engaging in the activity that would bring that about, he didn’t feel too poorly about playing with her. Just a bit.

He stood as well, smoothed his vest down, and gave her a small bow. That is a very kind and, I must admit, intriguing offer, Miss Bromley. However, any child I may have must be legitimate, so I’m afraid I will not be able to accept.

Her eyes grew as round as saucers and her mouth dropped open again, all color leaching from her face. He allowed her a moment to recover from her shock, though it was physically painful to keep from laughing.

N—n—no. That’s not what I meant at all, she stammered. "Of course, you’ll require a wife first." She spoke the word as though she were spitting out glass.

He raised an eyebrow. Are you offering to find me a wife before providing me with an heir? He tilted his head again, forehead creasing in mock confusion. Again, kind of you, but I can’t imagine any wife being happy about another woman bearing her husband’s child.

Miss Bromley sputtered, and Silas felt just the slightest bit of guilt at goading her, but by the gods, it was the most entertainment he’d had in a fortnight.

Or, he said, taking pity, are you proposing marriage yourself, Miss Bromley?

Her face flushed again, then drained of all color completely, and then turned a strange sort of mottled pink before she dropped to the sofa and put her head in her hands. She moaned.

I’m making such a mess of this. You must think I am utterly preposterous, she muttered through her hands.

He chuckled and sat again, reaching forward to remove her hands from her face. The thought has crossed my mind, yes. Why don’t you start at the beginning, and we’ll go from there?

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Very well. I’m sure you’re aware of my family’s recent difficulties.

He hesitated and then decided to be completely forthright. If you are referring to the unfortunate situation with your elder sister, then yes. I have heard a bit here and there. More than that actually, but he didn’t wish to distress her with the sordid rumors that were floating about if she were not aware of them. Or remind her of them if she were.

She nodded sharply. As you can imagine, this has harmed my family’s position irreparably. For myself, I do not care. I am perfectly happy to live an obscure life in the country. But I have a younger sister… She was presented at court last year but came down with a dreadful illness that kept her from most of the festivities and cut her season short. She hoped to return this year and make a good match, but now…under the circumstances…

Silas nodded. As unfair as it was, their elder sister’s decision to run off with the family groom had certainly put her sisters’ reputations in question. After all, if one sister behaved so injudiciously, the others would be presumed to follow her example.

And you believe I can help with the situation? he asked.

She nodded once but didn’t elaborate.

His finger rubbed across his lips while he regarded her for a moment. And how does my need of an heir play into all this?

She dragged in another deep breath and closed her eyes, as if not being able to see him would make saying the words easier. You need an heir. I need a husband for my sister. I thought we could help each other.

So…you wish me to marry your sister?

Her eyes flew open, and he hurried to dissuade her of any other foolish notions in her head. I’m honored you deem me worthy of your sister, however, I have no wish for a wife, despite my apparent need of an heir, and—

Heavens no, that’s not at all what I was proposing. You’d be the last person I’d want for her—

He raised both eyebrows at that, and she blushed. "I only meant the thought had crossed my mind as it would settle your respective issues nicely. However, I do not believe it would be a good match."

You flatter me, he said, drolly.

I mean no offense, it is only… An exasperated breath left her in a rush. My sister is young, barely more than eighteen, and she craves excitement and all the advantages a husband could bring her. From what I have observed and know of you, you have even less desire to marry than I. So, becoming the husband of a woman who very much wishes to be a wife would be…disastrous.

Well, he couldn’t fault that logic. It was, in fact, the reason he’d avoided matrimony for so long. Rather the way a ship would avoid a barnacle if it could. Agreed, he said.

I would like for my sister to find a husband, but I also want her to be happy. And…I do not think she would be so with you, she said slowly, as though she were afraid her words would insult him. And so they would, if he didn’t wholeheartedly concur.

Again, I agree. So then, where do you fit into all this?

Unlike my sister, I do not wish to be a wife.

Ah. So, you think that makes you the perfect wife for me? His lips twitched. He was simultaneously amused and horrified and yet unable to stop the current events from unfolding right before his eyes. He had to see how far she would carry this out. Frankly, he was surprised and a bit dismayed she hadn’t already bolted. For all her blushes, the woman had a spine of steel, that much was evident.

She covered her face with her hands again. This is all such a muddle.

He chuckled quietly and, again, reached forward to take her hands, only this time he kept them in his own. Just say it quickly and get it over with.

Her eyes flashed to him and then she pulled herself together, firming her shoulders and sitting ramrod straight. If you will marry me, help restore my family’s honor and respectability, and find my sister a good match, I will provide you with the legitimate heir you need. After which, I wish nothing more than to quietly retire to your country estate and disappear from your life. You may do as you please.

It was much as he’d thought, though hearing it from her lips still made his head spin. And… My country estate?

She raised an eyebrow. That is your only question?

He shrugged and let go of her hands, sitting back in his chair to observe her. For the moment.

Her

Reviews for Ten Rules for Marrying a Duke

[Alice Olayiwola · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved this story very much. Quite unconventional but still worth reading. You’ll enjoy every moment.