His Wallflower White: The Dark Duke’s Legacy Read online

  His Wallflower White

  The Dark Duke’s Legacy

  Tammy Andresen

  Swift Romance Publishing

  Copyright © 2021 by Tammy Andresen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Her Wanton White

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Tammy

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  www.tammyandresen.com

  Hugs!

  Chapter One

  “I do believe I despise London,” Millie declared as she took a bite of a delicate confection. She sat outside one of the many shops that lined the narrow cobblestone street near where they’d taken up residence. The words were the absolute truth. Despite the abundance of pastries, London was loud, busy, and, quite honestly, the place stank of humanity. Literally. It smelled terrible.

  Chloe, her best friend and brother’s wife, gave her a glowing smile. Her honey hair and blue eyes sparkled in the few rays of sun as they sat at a café table outside the shop. Those sorts of grins were Chloe’s specialty. She had an annoying knack for seeing the good in everything. Millie loved her despite such an obvious flaw. “It’s not so bad,” Chloe said leaning closer. “So many people of different walks of life provide an endless amount of amusement.”

  Esme, Millie’s stepmother, or rather, her late father’s wife, nodded her mass of pale blonde locks, her petite frame perfectly draped in black. The color only served to accentuate her light hair and porcelain skin. “London is always good for that. Truth be told, I’ve missed it. Here, it feels like the possibilities are endless.”

  Millie scrunched her nose. “Endlessly smelly.”

  Both Chloe and Esme giggled at that.

  Millie scanned the crowd of people bustling this way and that. They walked with large baskets of goods such as food or clothes. Some alone, some in pairs, chatting. A few leading dogs and one man with a small pig. Curious indeed.

  But to Millie, they weren’t interesting. They were much the same. Which was unfair, she knew. Each of those bodies was living a life full of drama, happiness, pain. But as she stared out at them, they all blended together.

  Then again, Lady Millicent White, sister to the Duke of Whitehaven, wasn’t much for socializing. In fact, she didn’t talk to anyone other than her family. Ever. Period.

  She pressed her lips together, and remembered the very day it started. She’d been seven.

  A diplomat had come to stay with her family. She couldn’t remember from where, but he’d asked her questions that she hadn’t wished to answer. What was her doll’s name? Who was her favorite brother? The response had stuck on her tongue.

  The answers, even then, were too personal to share with a stranger. How did a little girl explain that her doll was named after the mother she had no memory of? Or that her favorite brother was Ben, only he’d grown cold and distant over the past few years?

  And so she’d said nothing.

  The moment their guest had gone, her father had switched her hands for her rudeness. Not that the punishment had deterred her. Not a bit. If anything, she’d realized something important that day. She had power, too. Silence, in and of itself, was a form of control. She couldn’t openly disobey. Not like her four brothers. But she could withhold. That was hers to command.

  “Of course, my possibilities are not currently endless.” Esme looked down at the black fabric she wore. “In fact, they’re quite limited.”

  Millie understood. As a duke’s widow, Esme was supposed to be in full mourning. And she more or less was adhering to the strict social code that governed such events. She wore all black and had refrained from attending any social events, but Esme had not contained herself within their townhome. They’d begun taking trips like these out and about the city.

  The weather had warmed nicely, and Esme wasn’t really grieving. How could one actually mourn the loss of such a wretched man as Millie’s father?

  Chloe reached for Esme’s hand. “Ben claims you needn’t attend those rules at all. He says that as a duchess, you’re one of the few people who can break them at will, and no one will dare say a word.”

  Esme gave a sad smile to Chloe, her fingers gripping Chloe’s tighter for just a moment before she let the other woman’s hand go. “You are the duchess now, dear. I am the dowager. And if I want to marry again, I need to put on the air of a mourning widow. Appearing unfeeling will not endear me to new suitors. Never mind that no one mourns the loss of the last Duke of Whitehaven. No one will care that I was thrust into a loveless marriage with a cruel man.”

  Millie grimaced at that. Esme made several pertinent points. She scanned the crowd again, not because she looked for anyone in particular, but her thoughts were lost in the past again, memories of her father, swirling about her thoughts. How could one man have so much and be so miserable?

  Millie’s memories stopped short, however, when a man caught her gaze. A stranger, though he looked oddly familiar. As though she’d seen him before. But as she searched her memory, she couldn’t place him. And surely she’d remember a man such as him.

  He was tall. Taller than everyone around him and thickly muscled. The sort of brawn that her brother Justice, who was a bare-knuckle fighter, had. His light brown hair glinted with flecks of gold in the sun, giving him a carefree look despite the serious expression on his face.

  He stood across the street, leaning against a pole, which was odd, in and of itself, his square jaw clenched, and his mouth set in a frown. And when Millie looked at him, to assess the color of his eyes, she found his gaze trained right back on her.

  She dropped her pastry, the delightful cream filling landing directly in her lap.

  She cried, and looked down, a smear of yellow gold cream now gracing the black of her skirt. Chloe jumped up and, grabbing a handkerchief, began to dab delicately at the mess. “Don’t worry,” her friend soothed. “We’ll get it clean.”

  Not caring a whit about the mess, and realizing she’d lost her focus, she looked up at the post again to find the man who’d leaned against it had disappeared.

  Drat.

  Why had he been looking at her with such intensity. Why had he been standing there at all when everyone else bustled about? And where had he gone?

  With a sigh, she looked back at her lap, Chloe still attempting to remove the cream. What did it matter where he’d gone? She was unlikely to see the man ever again. “We should return to the house,” Millie said as she took the handkerchief from Chloe’s hand. “Esme is right. Nice as these outings are, it would be better if we stayed at home.”

  Esme shook her head. “No. It’s fine. Who would recognize me now? And besides, you need to be getting used to being out if you’re going to marry a prominent man. It’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  Millie shrugged. “Partially.” The truth was, while her brother, Ben, the new Duke of Whitehaven, did wish to see her wed, a
nd he’d already chosen a suitor, he’d also come to London as part of an investigation.

  And since her prospective husband was out of the city on business, they’d been far more occupied with solving the mysteries that plagued their family than anything else. Which suited Millie just fine. Her father’s death was still too recent to really begin courting in earnest. Not that she wished to court at all.

  In fact, she’d started a plan to avoid the dreaded business entirely. It was in its infancy yet. But she had no intention of marrying a man her brother had chosen.

  Millie, having spent a great deal of time with her own thoughts was particularly fond of puzzles, anything that had a great deal of parts and required solving. Riddles, people, even her brother’s duties as a new duke interested her as problems that needed solving. Not that he’d ever allow her to help with the dukedom.

  But a family mystery? That was a problem she couldn’t resist. There were two major pieces. One, a secret half-sibling whose identity they were attempting to discover. And the other…her father’s death. And if she successfully solved one or the other, not only would she enjoy the process, but she might just prove to Ben that she was capable of choosing her own future.

  And not with some boring merchant. She could help with the dukedom. Surely her mind would be an asset.

  Chloe returned to her seat. “Of course, that’s why we’re here. We need to secure Millie’s future.”

  Millie wrinkled her nose as she gave up on the mess. “As usual, you’re too kind, my friend. My future should be the least of our concerns. We’re here to find out who our bastard brother is, R. White, and how he is connected to the explosion on Dez’s ship and…” she dropped her voice lower. “Father’s death.”

  Her second brother, Lord Destrian White, transported gunpowder to the front lines of the French war. A few weeks ago, one of his ships had caught fire, destroying the ship and all of its cargo.

  In trying to find the culprit, they’d discovered they had a half-sibling who was somehow connected to the explosion. The man who had helped to set fire on the ship, a French spy named Le Serpent, had not only her father’s name on a list that had been found on his person, but that of R. White.

  Which shouldn’t have surprised Millie. She’d seen her father do some dreadful things in his life. But destroying her brother’s business. That had to be a new low.

  Esme shook her head. “We’re here for both. The investigation is first because with Napoleon’s return from exile, the need for gunpowder is pressing, and as women, we’re forced into this abstention from society while we grieve. But we can quietly be working toward our goals too.”

  Millie gave a silent nod. She’d yet to explain to either Esme or Chloe that she’d not wed, and that her goals had nothing to do with society or merchants who wanted to marry into the aristocracy. Who wanted to be under a man’s control? Her brothers were bad enough.

  Granted, Chloe seemed very happy with Ben, and Dez had just married the beautiful Fleur Dupont, but they were the exceptions. And with Millie’s own silence, how would she ever succeed at making a match?

  She thought of the large fellow she’d just seen. He’d been handsome enough to be tempting for certain, but she’d likely never meet a man so alluring again.

  Rising, the three women started for their townhome. Despite what Esme and Chloe maintained, they were here to secure her brothers’ futures. Not hers.

  That wasn’t true. She supposed she did intend to figure out her life, but not in the way any of her family expected.

  * * *

  The Honourable Patrick Cranston stood at the back door of the Duke of Whitehaven’s townhome and shifted for the third time in as many moments. He held his hat in his hand, sliding the brim back and forth.

  “Damn you, Justice,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Hurry up.”

  He knew the women would be wrapping up their tea and cakes any moment and they’d return to the house. He’d taken a risk coming here now, rather than his usual check-in time at midnight.

  He and Justice were old friends and both retired fighters, though Justice had left the ring a great deal earlier than Patrick. Likely because the man was much smarter. Or, he just had a better family that had provided a more lucrative path.

  Patrick’s family had done little in the way of support.

  Not that he wanted or needed their help.

  But he could confess to being the slightest bit jealous of the relationship between the White siblings.

  Justice White and Sayden White were as close as any two grown men could be, having gone into business together making gunpowder. Another brother, Destrian, shipped it. And apparently, their oldest brother, the new Duke of Whitehaven, had provided their three brothers with extra ships.

  Of course, there was talk of the war ending even if Napoleon had just gained another victory. He’d also been captured once already, and the forces of Europe were aligning against the military leader.

  He wondered what the Whites would do after that, not that it was any of his business. But still, they’d land on their feet.

  Unlike Patrick, who’d spent a great deal of his time lately on his ass.

  The shine of fighting had worn thin. One of the many reasons, he’d accepted this job when Justice had offered it. The ring was not a kind place these days.

  And if he were honest, he didn’t want to go back to his old life. But creating a new future for himself would take money. The kind the White family could provide.

  This was a temporary position, but one he desperately needed.

  Patrick had been hired by the White men to follow their sister, Millie, about and make certain no one attempted to hurt her. Briefly, Justice had explained the potential threat.

  A spy had targeted Destrian—Dez, as the family called him. And while that spy had been killed, the man who had been Dez’s partner had been in league with the spy all along. They didn’t know what kind of information the traitor had given others, therefore putting the entire family at risk. Including Millie, their unwed sister.

  Patrick ran a hand through his hair. Second sons had a rough lot. Third and fourth, too. They ended up scrapping and scrabbling for a living.

  But that’s why he needed to speak with Justice now. This job would give him enough money to figure his next steps out. And he didn’t want anything to jeopardize his plans for the future.

  The door swung open, and Justice stood before him. As tall as Patrick and equally muscled, Justice gave Patrick a decided frown. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Patrick’s eyebrows rose. Apparently being part of society again had done little to curb Justice’s profanity. “Would I be here if it wasn’t urgent?”

  Justice let out a long breath and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”

  “Lady Millicent saw me today,” he said, grimacing. He wasn’t supposed to be seen. And since he desperately needed this position, he’d rather Justice hear it from him.

  “What does that mean?” Justice asked, his frown deepening as he twisted his neck, making a decided crack.

  “It means, she looked right at me, her head cocked to the side as though she were considering me.” He looked down at his hat, wincing as he bowed his head.

  But Justice only gave him a black look, the kind that scrunched his dark brows together. “Did she speak to you?”

  “No,” Patrick confessed. “She just…” Stared at him as though solving a puzzle. As though she saw him.

  Which had quite honestly shaken him.

  He’d met his fair share of beautiful women. Hell, he’d bedded a great many of them. Women liked a fighter even when his face was bruised and battered.

  But he’d been following Millie for the better part of a week and he’d had ample time to study the lovely curve of her cheek, the delicate swoop of her chin. The plump lines of her lips and the dark mass of hair that crowned her head.

  He’d noted her shyness and wondered at its origin, but he’d also
heard the strength in her voice when she spoke with her family on the few occasions he’d been close enough to make out the words. She was far wittier and a bit more sarcastic than her innocent looks and quiet exterior let on, and he wondered at the mystery.

  Which was more than he’d considered any woman for a very long time.

  And that had been all well and good when he’d faded into the background like wallpaper, sent to be her invisible protector.

  But when she looked at him, he’d realized she might actually speak to him, start a conversation, and that was an interaction he didn’t need to have. He’d signed on to be a silent guard.

  If he ruined his mission, he’d be fired. It was the harsh reality, and he didn’t need a woman mucking things up further.

  “So you came here, and risked discovery, to tell me that you what…made eye contact?”

  “I’m telling you that I’ve already been seen. She gave me this long look like she was attempting to figure something out. Figure me out. I wanted you to know that I need to hang a bit further back, make certain she doesn’t see me again.”

  Justice shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s just her face. She always looks like she knows exactly what you’re about and that she doesn’t approve. Must be from growing up with so many men. She doesn’t even need to say a word and you are already certain you’ve done something wrong. And you can’t hang further back. You’d risk her safety.”

  Patrick shook his head. “You told me that secrecy was my most important ally.”

  “Along with your fists, of course.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not eager to return to the ring. But I’m warning you, she might know.”