Ensnaring the Duke

ENSNARING THE DUKE WHEN THE WALLFLOWERS WERE WICKED DAPHNE QUINN Copyright © 2023 by Daphne Quinn 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 Prologue 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 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Epilogue Enticing the Earl Join Swift Romance’s newsletter About the Author PROLOGUE The night that Lady Abigail Weston first met the future Duke of Worthing was the night that she first found out the definition of a wallflower. But she had no idea that she would become one. "Are you excited about the ball?" her father, the Earl of Weston, asked as the carriage jolted over cobblestones towards the town mansion that would hold the night’s festivities. Abigail thought carefully about how to answer his question. She knew what he wanted to hear – but it wasn’t what she felt in her heart. "I-" she began, but nothing further came out. "The Season is where you will find a husband," her father said. "If you disappear off to the sides of the room with the wallflowers and spinsters, you will never be spotted." Abigail’s brows furrowed. At eighteen, and without a mother to guide her through society, she felt like she was learning something new at every social occasion. And because of that, she did tend to stay away from the crowds. "What’s a wallflower?" Her papa waved a hand dismissively through the air. "You know – the women who are shy, and stay out of the way, and are never asked to dance." "Oh," Abigail said, her voice catching a little in her throat. She was rarely asked to dance. She found the crowds overwhelming. She stood near the wall, hoping for one of the other ladies to strike up a conversation with her. How she wished her sister was old enough to join her at these events – but at only thirteen, little Lydia was a long way off from her first Season. Despite the five-year age gap between the two, they were extremely close – and Abigail would have been much more comfortable with her sister at her side. "Just make sure you dance tonight, all right?" her father said. "I want you to find a good husband." She nodded. "Yes, Papa." She knew he only wanted her to be happy, even if the way he went about it was rather blunt. * * * Papa escorted her into the fine house, and they were greeted by the Viscount and his wife, who were hosting the ball. Abigail curtsied, but let her father do the talking. The ballroom was already full of people, and music, and excitement, and Abigail wanted to shrink away from it all. Without a prominent woman to make introductions, it was hard for her to be seen – and that only made her more wary of these events. Perhaps in the future Papa would find a fine lady to sponsor her, if she did not manage to make a match, but he clearly hadn’t thought about it for this year. "Weston!" a voice called, and they both turned to see a middle-aged gentleman in a tight-fitting waistcoat approaching. "I thought that was you." "Dunstone!" Father said, shaking his hand heartily. "It’s been a long time. May I introduce my daughter, Lady Abigail Weston? Abigail, this is Lord Dunstone." "Lady Abigail, all grown up. It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear. I doubt you will remember our last meeting, you were very young." Abigail forced a smile. "I’m afraid not, my lord." "Is your dance card full? All these young debutantes have their cards full before they make it to the ratafia these days. No? Wonderful, I would be honoured if you would dance the next dance with me." Father looked at her expectantly, and she tried to keep the smile on her face. This was her third ball, and she had danced three times in total so far in public. She had not liked any of them, in spite of all her dance tuition at finishing school, but she would not be able to refuse this lord. And embarrassingly, her card was still completely empty – and they had been on their way to the ratafia table. "Thank you, my lord," she said, with a demure dip of her head. "That would be lovely." "And then, Weston, we should go and play cards. For old time’s sake." Abigail’s heart sank. So she would be left alone again – and she was expected not to disappear into the background. The evening stretched bleakly ahead of her, in spite of the glitz and glamour of the ballroom. Lord Dunstone took her gloved hand and led her onto the dance floor. She didn’t know what to say to him, and she found she did not really like the way he looked at her. The modiste had said this dress was in the current fashion – a lilac silk with a square neckline – but it revealed far more of Abigail’s skin than she had ever shown before, and that only added to her discomfort. "This is your first Season, yes?" Lord Dunstone asked as the music brought them together. She nodded, and forced herself to add some words. "Yes, we came to London especially." "Marvellous. I’m sure you’ll be inundated with callers and proposals." She didn’t agree, but she couldn’t say that, and so she simply smiled. As the dance steps put space between them again, Abigail tried very hard not to forget