Page 1 of Kidnapping the Duchess
CHAPTER ONE
Daria
As my brain drags me toward consciousness, a muffled voice prattles on about lord only knows what. Suddenly, the pillow over my head is ripped away and my sister’s words become blaringly clear.
“Daria, are you even listening to me?”
I smoosh my face into another pillow. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m trying really hard not to.”
“Dad just called. He’s on his way home, and he expects us to be ready to greet him when he arrives with the Duke of Sasquine.”
BOOM.
Just like that, I remember why I’d fallen into a bottle of tequila the night before. This is to be my last week of freedom, decreed so by my father almost a year ago to the day.
“It’s time for me to start gathering marriage prospects for you, Daria, and second to securing your station in life, your happiness means a great deal to me. Is there anyone you’d like me to consider? Anyone you already love or might come to love?”
An image of my favorite bodyguard flashes through my mind. Whenever he’s near, my skin tingles with awareness and my body flushes hot. But what I feel for the incredibly sexy Izak Blackstone isn’t love. It’s a different four-letter word that starts with “L” and ends with multiple Os. Not that I know from experience, but sometimes a girl can just tell.
Shaking free of my lust-addled thoughts, I raise my chin and speak with conviction. “No, Daddy, there’s no one, because I don’t want a love match or any kind of match, for that matter.”
“That’s out of the question, I’m afraid. I’ll start a list of prospective noblemen and invite one of them here every month for a week-long stay. You’ll have the chance to get to know them enough to make your decision by the end of their visit.”
“But Dad—”
“No buts, Daria. I’m giving you one year to choose an acceptable husband who will secure your future. At the end of that year, if you haven’t made a choice, I will do so for you.”
For the past eleven months, my father has done as promised and brought eleven titled aristocrats from all over to Geneva in hopes I would say “yes” to one of them. And for the past eleven months, I’ve only ever said “no” and prayed Dad would tire of playing matchmaker and finally give up.
He hasn’t.
This week marks the last of that year, and the Duke of Sasquine is the very last of my prospects, mostly due to my tendencies for attracting trouble with a capital T. But, according to my father, not only is Cyrus Applebaum willing to marry me despite my wild reputation, but he’s also amenable to it.
Which is why there’s currently a drumline battle in my head from too many tequila shooters. Not that it’s out of the norm for me—they don’t call me Geneva’s Duchess of Debauchery for nothing—but typically, my party-like-a-rock-star lifestyle isn’t driven by emotion. It’s simply what’s expected of the black sheep of the Copeland family, so like any good royal, I do my best to accommodate my public.
“For fuck’s sake, Talia, settle down,” I grumble. “I’ll never understand why you get so worked up whenever foreign nobles come to visit. They’re no different than us, you know. I don’t expect everyone to roll out the red carpet for me, and I’ve been a duchess since I was twelve, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“How could any of us forget when you bring it up at the most random of times, your grace?”
I chuckle at that. Ever since “Auntie” Lisbeth—our mother’s best friend and queen of our fair country, Malvenia—bestowed the title on me after Mum passed away, I’ve made it a point to remind everyone how important I am. It’s a running joke between me and my siblings, who love me too much to take offense, bless their hearts.
“And don’t lie, you absolutely love getting the red-carpet treatment,” she says with a small shove to my shoulder.
“I said I don’t expect it, not that I don’t love it.”
She chuffs a quick laugh then gets to work. Though my eyes remain closed, I hear Talia flitting around my room, grabbing an outfit she deems appropriate for meeting one’s possibly soon-to-be betrothed, fishing pain relievers from the ever-present bottle on the end table, and opening a bottle of water from my mini-fridge. She and our brother—her twin—are two years younger, making them twenty-three, yet she’s always acted like the eldest.
“Let’s go, lazy loaf. You can’t be late for your next blind date,” Talia says in a sing-songy voice. Everyone in the kingdom knows my Dad is trying to match me up with potential suitors, but not even Tal knows about the ultimatum he gave me. No one knows I’m about to lose my freedom if I can’t figure a way out of this. But I’m nothing if not determined. If it takes squeezing out a few pleading tears to sway my kind-hearted father in my favor at the eleventh hour, I won’t hesitate.
Groaning, I roll to my back and fling my arms to the side like a petulant child. Which, at the moment, I suppose I am. At least it’s on-brand.
“Come on.” She pulls on my arm, dragging me into a seated position before stretching across the mattress to force the pills and water into my hands. “Ugh, why do you insist on such a ginormous bed?”
“It’s the perfect size when it’s my turn to host the orgies,” I deadpan.
Talia snort-laughs. She’s the only person in all of Malvenia who knows the truth about who I really am. Everyone thinks I’ve slept my way through half the country’s male population, and a good number of females as well. They’d be shocked to discover the Duchess of Debauchery is still carrying her V-card.
Unless you count my extensive sex toy collection in the bedside drawer. But as far as actual human penetration? Nada. Turns out an inability to be vulnerable with anyone is a major cockblock. Who knew?
