Every Duke Has His Price

  Dukes in Danger

  Book 5

  Emily E K Murdoch

  © Copyright 2023 by Emily E K Murdoch

  Text by Emily E K Murdoch

  Cover by Dar Albert

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 23

  Moreno Valley, CA 92556

  ceo@dragonbladepublishing.com

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition August 2023

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Dearest Reader;

  Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.

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  CEO, Dragonblade Publishing

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch

  Dukes in Danger Series

  Don’t Judge a Duke by His Cover (Book 1)

  Strike While the Duke is Hot (Book 2)

  The Duke is Mightier than the Sword (Book 3)

  A Duke in Time Saves Nine (Book 4)

  Every Duke Has His Price (Book 5)

  Twelve Days of Christmas

  Twelve Drummers Drumming

  Eleven Pipers Piping

  Ten Lords a Leaping

  Nine Ladies Dancing

  Eight Maids a Milking

  Seven Swans a Swimming

  Six Geese a Laying

  Five Gold Rings

  Four Calling Birds

  Three French Hens

  Two Turtle Doves

  A Partridge in a Pear Tree

  The De Petras Saga

  The Misplaced Husband (Book 1)

  The Impoverished Dowry (Book 2)

  The Contrary Debutante (Book 3)

  The Determined Mistress (Book 4)

  The Convenient Engagement (Book 5)

  The Governess Bureau Series

  A Governess of Great Talents (Book 1)

  A Governess of Discretion (Book 2)

  A Governess of Many Languages (Book 3)

  A Governess of Prodigious Skill (Book 4)

  A Governess of Unusual Experience (Book 5)

  A Governess of Wise Years (Book 6)

  A Governess of No Fear (Novella)

  Never The Bride Series

  Always the Bridesmaid (Book 1)

  Always the Chaperone (Book 2)

  Always the Courtesan (Book 3)

  Always the Best Friend (Book 4)

  Always the Wallflower (Book 5)

  Always the Bluestocking (Book 6)

  Always the Rival (Book 7)

  Always the Matchmaker (Book 8)

  Always the Widow (Book 9)

  Always the Rebel (Book 10)

  Always the Mistress (Book 11)

  Always the Second Choice (Book 12)

  Always the Mistletoe (Novella)

  Always the Reverend (Novella)

  The Lyon’s Den Series

  Always the Lyon Tamer

  Pirates of Britannia Series

  Always the High Seas

  De Wolfe Pack: The Series

  Whirlwind with a Wolfe

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch

  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

  Epilogue

  About Emily E K Murdoch

  Chapter One

  September 30, 1810

  The roar of the pub exploding with joy that he had lost, and badly, was hardly music to Hugh Shardlow, Duke of Martock’s ears.

  “Damn and—”

  But he managed to hold his tongue. With difficulty.

  It was fortunate perhaps that he had spoken under his breath. It was even more fortunate—or unfortunate, depending on one’s perspective—that he had started to swear in English, a language rarely spoken here.

  He had spent the last two weeks wandering, thinking he would perhaps run into an Englishman in these godforsaken French inns, all without success. But his failure until now had at least benefited him. It would never do for his opponent to realize what he’d been about to say.

  His opponent, a man who had been introduced with the single name Pierre, was glaring. Hugh grinned as though he did not care he had lost his second to last coin in the world.

  “Good hand,” Hugh said in flawless French.

  Pierre grunted. Through the dirty dark curls hanging low across his forehead, greed glinted in his eyes. “Another?”

  Hugh hesitated.

  He was not normally one to turn down an opportunity for another hand of cards. In the best halls of London, even some of the less prestigious ones, he was known for his splendid ability to guess precisely what another man would bid, and if he was bluffing. The skill had him banned from the Dulverton Club, though Hugh had protested he’d not been cheating.

  He was just good at reading people. Should he truly be punished for such an art?

  But he was, and so he had taken his clever hands and skill with a deck elsewhere, and made plenty of money. But it hadn’t been enough.

  “Well?” snapped Pierre. “Another hand?”

  Hugh was suddenly very conscious their seemingly small and inconsequential game in a corner of a dark inn in the middle of nowhere France seemed to be attracting a great deal more attention than expected.

  There was a man at the bar casting them covert looks. Two men who’d been having a conversation at the next table over paused to listen to his response. And that man by the door, with the very visible pistol…

  Hugh sighed. It was the oldest trick in the book. He should have been expecting it.

  Well, they were determined to rid him of absolutely all coin, that was clear—he may as well allow them to do so through a game of cards. It would at least prevent him from having to fight them. His bare-knuckle boxing days were rather rusty.

  “Of course, another hand,” Hugh said with a smile he did not feel.

  Pierre’s—if that was his real name—smile was far more genuine. “Excellent! What do you bet?”

  With great frustration—the whole purpose to come here was to attempt to win more coin, not lose it!—Hugh dug in his waistcoat pocket, his coat buttons undone but the coat itself still around his shoulders. He poured the contents of his pockets onto the table. Pierre peered down.

  An English shilling. A button, not one from anything he was wearing. A small tinderbox with a coat of arms.

  Hugh quickly turned the tinderbox over, but Pierre’s eyes were sharper than that.

  “Oh, a stolen little trinket, I see!” he said with glee. “Well, you can barter with—”

  “That’s tin, not stolen, and mine,” Hugh said quietly, a dark sort of anger he could not quite hide. “Thank you.”

  Without breaking his gaze from the card shark, he picked up the tinderbox and placed it back in his pocket.

  Which did not explain why his heart was beating so fast, Hugh tried not to think. Well, he’d been a fool to bring that out. What if—no, no one in this French backwater would have recognized that crest. Quite a few Englishmen would not recognize it, even gentlemen. Still. It was madness to give anyone the chance.

  Hugh Shardlow may have spent the last six months in France, bu
t the Duke of Martock…that was another story. That particular part of his identity he had kept quite hidden.

  The ransom for his safe return alone would cost a fair few more shillings than he had on him, and the shame it would bring the family…

  “Well, a shilling isn’t much,” Pierre said grumpily.

  And Hugh saw his chance. He should have known the minute he walked into this inn that it would not suffice. His desires were far more expensive than what he could have won here—assuming the other man hadn’t cheated.

  He would simply have to make his way elsewhere, that was all.

  “In that case, I will bid you a good—”

  “Did I say you could leave?” Pierre spat, voice threatening and brows furrowed.

  The two men at the table beside them half rose to their feet, one of them revealing—

  Hugh groaned. A knife. Of course.

  “I did not say I would not play. You were the one who suggested my stakes were insufficient,” he pointed out.

  But to no avail. Obviously, they had decided his paltry shilling was more than enough to play for. Perhaps even to fight for. If he was foolish enough, to die for.

  Hugh groaned inwardly, but there was nothing for it. He had brought this on himself by not putting aside enough funds to pay for what he so desperately wished—and despite his prowess with the cards, an honest man could never beat a cheat.

  Not that he was idiot enough to accuse any man of cheating in a place like this…

  “I say we play,” Pierre said darkly.

  Hugh sighed. He could fight his way out. He had a knife similar to the one being carefully not concealed by Pierre’s friend. He was probably better than the man at wielding it.

  But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that there were five of them, at least, and only one of him. Not great odds. So, he would lose the shilling. But he would keep his life.

  “Play then,” he said nonchalantly, as though he hardly cared either way.

  Pierre grinned. “Excellent.”

  It was over swiftly. Hugh knew it would be and he put up very little fuss, not bothering to bid on the right cards, unconcerned when his hand did not improve. What difference would it make? He was going to lose the shilling anyway.

  Pierre grinned. “I have won!”

  Hugh shrugged. “Good for you, man. Have a pleasant evening.”

  He thought, just for a moment, he may not be permitted to leave. Any idiot with half an eye could have spotted the real silver of the tinderbox. Perhaps they would rob him for it. Perhaps they would beat him just for the indignation of having attempted to refuse the game.

  But though Hugh was ready for them, ensuring he was balanced perfectly on the balls of his feet as he rose, there appeared to be no need. Pierre’s gaze was already raking across the gloomy inn for another victim.

  And so Hugh was permitted to approach the bar and take a long, deep breath.

  Not that it mattered. Though his mouth watered, the scent of ale rising in the air, he could not pay for it. A drink would have to be enjoyed another—

  “On the house,” grunted the innkeeper, pushing forward a tankard brimming with ale.

  Hugh curled his fingers around the handle and drank eagerly. It was the first thing he had drunk all day. Or was it already tomorrow? His pocket watch had been pawned a long time ago. It was impossible to tell in this dank gloom.

  “Thirsty,” grunted the innkeeper in French.

  Hugh nodded. He probably shouldn’t drink too fast; he’d not eaten either. The last thing he needed was to leave his wits behind at the bar as he attempted to leave.

  “What are you doing here, English?” the innkeeper asked suddenly.

  A twist of frustration and just a hint of boredom soared through Hugh’s chest. It was the same old question, one that probably he should have expected.

  After all, there was a war on.

  “I’m stuck here,” Hugh said honestly, finding over the weeks that the truth was the swiftest way to end the conversation. “I came here with plenty of money, now I have none.”

  He took a slow sip of his ale. And why did that sting so badly? Was it because he was a duke, accustomed to always having his way?

  He had never been one to carry money. Actual coins? Hugh would have laughed at the thought six months ago. Why, he had people for that! Bills came to the house, and bills were paid. His butler, his steward, they both managed his estates, his staff, his expenses.

  Before he had taken the ship across the Channel, Hugh could not recall the last time he had seen an actual coin. Now here he was, without any, and in desperate need.

  Well, not desperate need, he tried to tell himself as he looked out across the inn. It was just…well. Life would be a lot easier with coin. He was unlikely to gain any from the people here either. Hugh had even considered begging—an absolute disgrace, particularly if word ever reached English shores that the Duke of Martock…

  Unthinkable.

  “I was a fool to come here anyway,” he said aloud, surprising himself as well as the innkeeper. “But I was bored.”

  “Bored?” repeated the innkeeper.

  Hugh laughed bitterly. “Yes, it does sound foolish when you say it like that. But yes, I was bored. I had tired of life, at least I thought I had, and I was determined to do something, go somewhere that would be more exciting.”

  Oh, what an imbecile he had been.

  Still, everything was clear in hindsight, wasn’t it? Though even now, Hugh struggled to remember the precise thoughts which had led him to embark on a boat toward a war torn country where he had no friends, no plans, and no idea what to do with himself.

  And the damned lack of plan had led him to…here.

  “What was it about England that bored you so much?” asked the innkeeper, serving one of Pierre’s friends—a man who glared curiously. “Your business, it was not going well?”

  Hugh gave a dry laugh. “Something like that.”

  Well, being a duke was dull, wasn’t it? And it was almost like a business. Money came in, money came out, and you had to make sure more stayed in your coffers than left the building. You had employees, of a sort. You even had to find someone to hand it down to.

  Hugh snorted. His father would have been horrified that he was six and twenty and unmarried. No heirs? No one to pass down the dishonorable name of Martock?

  And that was precisely why he had avoided it.

  “No wife?” the innkeeper asked, as though he could read the duke’s mind. “Children?”

  “Nothing of the sort,” said Hugh, trying not to rush through his drink. It may be the last thing he consumed for some time. “In fact, if I were in London right now, I…”

  His voice trailed away. What would he be doing?

  Dancing to dull music with an even duller partner at Almack’s, probably, he thought ruefully. Forced to listen to old biddies chant the exquisite taste of their daughters as though they were being sold at market. Nod along to the very boring political discussions raging.

  Anything, in fact, rather than actually enjoy himself.

  “Ah,” said the innkeeper, nodding in a knowing way that Hugh was not sure he liked. “So you have escaped a marriage.”

  Hugh snorted. “Something like that. But, of course, I don’t have much to offer, and so there weren’t many vying for my attention.”

  That was a lie.

  But it was a lie he rather liked. It was pleasant to think he could one day return to London, to England at all, and avoid the sort of desperate marriage mart nonsense every other gentleman had to endure.

  After all, what did he have to offer? Money, he supposed. A title.

  But the wrong sort of title. No respectable woman, once they discovered he was a Martock, was entranced.

  Hugh recalled his last conversation in society before he had left England.

  “Well, Your Grace, I hope you will accept my papa’s invitation to dine,” said a rather sprightly Miss Lymington.

  And for a moment, Hugh had been tempted. Her beauty had not been exaggerated, and it was easy to see her company would be most pleasant. And then—

  “My dear, come away now.” A woman who must have been Miss Lymington’s mother had bustled up, a crease in her brow and her eyes darting.

  That told him enough.

  “But I am conversing with His Grace,” Miss Lymington had started.

  But her hands had been immediately captured by her mother. “I said, come away! That’s not just any duke—that’s the Duke of Martock!”