The Seduction of Molly O’Flaherty
The Persuasion of Molly O’Flaherty
The Wedding of Molly O’Flaherty
About the Author
Sierra Simone is a USA Today bestselling former librarian who spent too much time reading romance novels at the information desk. She lives with her husband and family in Kansas City.
Sign up for her newsletter to be notified of releases, books going on sale, events, and other news!
Duke for Hire
Nicola Davidson
Chapter One
Charlton Kings, Gloucestershire, early August 1814
The time had come for change. No more would the stern expectations heaped upon a clergyman’s spinster daughter rule her life and rob her of pleasure.
Miss Ada Blair glanced around the sunny vicarage parlor. Fortunately, the two people who would support her quest most were here today: her honorary godmothers and fellow members of the St. Mary’s Church sewing circle, Miss Ruth Lacey and Miss Martha Kinloch. Even so, she should begin with a logical, reasoned argument.
“I’m turning thirty and don’t want to be a virgin anymore,” Ada blurted.
Both silver-haired women froze. Then Ruth tossed away her sewing and splashed gin from a silver hip flask into her berry cordial. Martha set down the copy of Mrs. Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho, Volume One—cunningly disguised as a treatise on housekeeping—that she’d been reading aloud.
“Hallelujah,” said Ruth, offering a silent toast before taking a healthy swallow. “I’ve been praying for this day.”
Ada blinked. “Er…you have?”
“Oh yes. I even made a notebook titled Aiding Ada: The Grand Cock Plan.”
Laughter bubbled. “I see.”
Martha nodded sagely. “To summarize the notebook, we’ll assist in any way you wish. Money, an alluring gown, list of potential bachelors, excuses and alibis—”
“Alibis? This is not a smuggling operation.”
“There are similarities,” said Ruth with a wink. “Except rather than goods disappearing in the cover of darkness, it’s your virtue. I must say though, I prefer fucking in the afternoon. Warm sun is lovely on bare skin.”
“Ruth,” scolded Martha, her cheeks pink. “Concentrate. A Grand Cock Plan is certainly required, for there are two significant barriers to success. First, Reverend Blair, bless his terrifyingly righteous soul. Second, handsome bachelors don’t grow on trees, especially in Charlton Kings.”
At those two indisputable facts, Ada sighed.
Once she’d dreamed of a handsome prince (a nice man with steady employment) who would storm the castle (knock on the vicarage door) slay the dragon (stand toe to toe with her father) sweep her up in his arms (a negotiable point, she was nearly six foot tall and decidedly plump after all) and teach her all the delights of the marriage bed. But as the years passed, that sweet fantasy had withered and died. Reverend Blair enjoyed the convenience and frugality of a daughter who cooked, cleaned, and ran his errands far too much to welcome suitors, and the few men willing to knock on the door had run screaming at the first hint of fire and brimstone. So, while Ada reluctantly accepted being a wife and mother wasn’t in her future, that didn’t mean she couldn’t learn about bedding. Surely one man in the county might say yes.
Ruth finished her cordial. The woman had a stomach of cast iron. “What would your dream lover be like, Ada?”
“Experienced,” she began, because bold women gave voice to their dreams. “Someone discreet and mature, not a fumbling lad who will reveal all at the tavern after a few ales.”
“Sensible. Also, a grown man will know where your clitoris is, and won’t forget to spill on your belly when he comes. Far too many girls are forced to leave home because some young fool forgot to withdraw. I’m so glad that pussy is my feast of choice…Martha darling, we’ve been lovers forever. How can that word still make you blush?”
“It just does,” mumbled Martha. “Although not quite as bad as fuck. You have the vernacular of a sailor—”
“It makes you wet as rain.”
“Utterly beside the point. We are here to assist our girl.”
Ada grinned at their forthright speech. Nowadays it rarely shocked her, although she could still recall at age eighteen having scarlet cheeks for days after Ruth and Martha sat her down and said because her dear mama was in heaven, they would give her the talk. Her godmothers didn’t believe in waiting until a wedding and provided information with jaw-dropping detail. Ada had also learned their truth: the two women were far more than the good friends her father and the parish insisted they were. Martha said they were life companions. Ruth winked and said they’d made each other sing like nightingales in bed for nigh on forty years. It had been a frank and eye-opening conversation about society and tolerance, but also the very nature of love and pleasure.
“Then by all means assist,” said Ruth, gracious as an empress.
“Very well. Let’s discuss looks,” said Martha. “What do you prefer, Ada? Red, dark, or fair-haired? Beard or clean-shaven? Certain eye color? Height? Because you mentioning discreet, experienced, and mature has me thinking of a certain someone.”
Ada twirled a blond curl around her finger as she considered her answer. “I am not so attracted to red or fair-haired gentlemen. I like dark hair. Eye and skin color don’t matter, nor does his jaw. But for my own peace of mind I’d like him to be taller and broader than me. I couldn’t bear the thought of accidentally hurting someone…botheration. That leaves no possibilities at all, does it?”
“Actually, you just described the man I have in mind.”
Ruth hooted. “Martha Kinloch. If it is the man I’m now thinking of, this is the grandest of Grand Cock Plans.”
“Well, of course,” said Martha irritably. “It’s for Ada.”
At the proof—yet again—that she was so important to these women, Ada’s vision grew blurry. They’d taken her under their wing when she’d first arrived at St. Mary’s as a bewildered, grieving child with her newly widowed father, and had been both her rock and her amusement ever since. While it sometimes stung that she remained alone and her godmothers had found their forever love—someone to banter and share adventures with, who was splendid in bed, and who thought them equally delightful at sixty as twenty—she wouldn’t trade their friendship for the world.
“Well,” Ada said lightly, when she had regained control. “Don’t leave me in suspense, Martha. Please reveal the Grand Cock Plan prospect who is discreet, experienced, mature, dark-haired, and taller than me. Because I do not believe such a paragon truly exists.”
“On the contrary. The Duke of Gilroy.”
She almost fell off her chair laughing. “I adore you, but have you lost your mind?”
“Not at all,” said Martha thoughtfully. “In fact, the more I ponder this, the more I’m convinced His Grace would be the perfect pleasure tutor. According to the London scandal sheets, he recently celebrated his fortieth birthday with a magnificent ball. Mature. He never talks about his lovers, even after they’ve parted ways. Discreet. And he requires them to sign a contract outlining each delicious, wicked thing they’ll do. Experienced.”