The Duke's Perfect Wife

“That’s twenty pounds you owe me, Uncle Mac,” Daniel said.

“And me, Mac Mackenzie.” Ainsley hoisted her daughter and made to turn away. “And twenty you owe Ian, and Beth. Teach you to bet against Eleanor.”

Mac kept laughing. “I am happy to lose. But I truly thought you’d give him the boot, El. He is such a bastard, after all.”

“She’s not at the altar yet,” Fleming said. “Double or nothing she comes to her senses before then?”

Mac waved him away, still grinning. “Learned my lesson. Never wager against anything that depends on Hart Mackenzie. He’s devious and underhanded, and he gets his way every time.”

“I say he won’t,” Fleming said in his lazy drawl.

Daniel pointed at him. “Done. I’ll take that wager. I say Eleanor gets him to the altar.”

Hart ignored them all. He turned Eleanor to him and pressed a casual kiss to her lips. Marking her as his in front of family, friends, and rivals.

Ian alone stayed quiet. But the look he sent Hart—one of determined satisfaction—unnerved Hart a bit. Ian Mackenzie was a man who always got what he wanted, and sometimes Hart wasn’t entirely sure what Ian wanted. But he knew he’d find out, and that Ian would win, whatever it was.

Gladstone lost his control of the government. In a loud victory, Hart’s coalition, led by David Fleming in Commons, defeated Gladstone’s weakly supported bill wholeheartedly. Gladstone, frowning his formidable frown, saw nothing for it but to dissolve Parliament and call for elections.

That same night, a brick crashed through Hart’s front room window in his Grosvenor Square house. That brick had a note wrapped around it, which proclaimed that the Duke of Kilmorgan was a marked man to the Fenians.

Hart tossed the paper into his desk drawer and told his majordomo to order the window repaired.

He was not so foolish as to dismiss the threat, however. He took double the guards when he went out anywhere in London and sent for Inspector Fellows. Eleanor, at least, was safely in Berkshire.

“Sit down,” Hart said irritably when Fellows arrived in Hart’s study in answer to his summons. “Don’t stand there as though you have a policeman’s baton shoved up your backside. You make me nervous.”

“Good,” Lloyd Fellows said. He took the chair but sat with his back upright, looking in no way obedient.

While Cameron, Mac, and Ian had accepted Fellows as one of their own without much fuss, Hart and Fellows still circled each other warily. They were about the same age, resembled each other, and both had worked very hard to get where they were in their own worlds.

“I understand that felicitations are in order,” Fellows said. The newspapers had blared it, even though the official announcement had not yet appeared. The Duke of K—will wed the daughter of a scholarly peer and take over England at the same time, one newspaper declared. Another said, The Scottish duke will marry his first sweetheart after waiting more than a decade. To be sure, one will never be able to say that they married in haste, repented at leisure. And other nonsense.

“Which means I am too busy to deal with these kinds of threats.” Hart handed Fellows the paper that had come through his window the night before.

Fellows took it gingerly and read it, brows rising. “Not much to go on. No one’s made much headway on the shooter either, I regret to say.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s Irishmen angry at a Scotsman, and I know finding them is a long shot. What I want is for you to keep them away from me. And on no account let them, or anyone else for that matter, touch my family.”

“A tall order. You mean you want a bodyguard.”

“I have bodyguards. I’ve left three to watch over Eleanor, and she’s with my brothers, who will take care of her for now. But I need to go about my business without hindrance. You’re canny, Fellows, and resourceful. You’ll do it.”

“You have a high regard for my ability,” Fellows said dryly.

“You pursued Ian and me for five years with a ruthlessness that would have made our father proud.”

“But I was wrong,” Fellows pointed out.

“So was I, in that case. This is where we are alike. When we are clearheaded, nothing can stop us. When we let emotion overcome us, we see nothing. I was blinded by worry for Ian and could not see the truth.” Hart stopped. “I still am.”

Fellows studied the paper again. “I take your point. I will see what I can do.”

Hart leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “You’re invited to the wedding, by the way. Isabella will send you a formal invitation.”

Fellows tucked the note into his pocket. “Are you certain you want me there?”

“It matters not what I want, or what you want. If you don’t come, Beth and Isabella, Ainsley and Eleanor will be most displeased. They will tell me so. Repeatedly.”

Fellows relaxed enough to laugh. “The great duke made nervous by his sisters-in-law and wife-to-be?”

“You’ve met them. Only very strong women can take living with Mackenzies, and so when one of us finds one…” He pretended to shudder.

“Your brothers seem pleased with themselves,” Fellows said. “And you are to wed your former fiancée. You should be the happiest man in the world.”

“I am.” Hart ignored the tightening in his chest as he said this. He’d coerced Eleanor into agreeing the same way he’d cornered Gladstone into a fight before the man was ready.