The Duchess's Decision Read online

  The Duchess’s Decision

  The Crown Affair Book Four

  Pamela DuMond

  Pamela DuMond Books

  The Duchess’s Decision: The Crown Affair Book Four

  Copyright © 2018 Pamela DuMond ~ All rights reserved.

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  Cover Design by Michael James Canales

  Photo: © Regina Wamba

  Model: Jenessa Andrea

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  The Duchess’s Decision: The Crown Affair Book Four © 2018 is the re-imagined, explicit, steamier version of Royally Wed: The Cock-Up © 2017 Pamela DuMond.

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  The story has been changed and additional content added by the same author, Pamela DuMond. All rights for both books are reserved.

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  The above book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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  No parts of these books may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any other means, without written permission of the author, except in the use of brief quotations used in articles or reviews. You can contact the author at www.pameladumond.com .

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  ISBN-13: 978-1720531173

  ISBN-10: 172053117X

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  Published by Pamela DuMond Books

  Contents

  Also by Pamela DuMond

  About The Duchess’s Decision

  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

  Excerpt of The Client

  Excerpt of The Matchmaker

  Books by Pamela DuMond

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Pamela DuMond

  ROMANCE

  The Crown Affair

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  The Prince’s Playbook (#1)

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  His Majesty’s Measure (#2)

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  The American Princess (#3)

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  The Duchess’s Decision (#4)

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  Playing Dirty Romantic Comedy Standalones

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  The Client

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  The Matchmaker

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  Royally Wed Romantic Comedy Series

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  Part-time Princess (#1) —COMING SOON as a CHAPTERS Interactive Stories Game App !

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  Royally Wed (#2)

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  Royally Wed: The Poser (#3)

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  Royally Wed: The Cock-Up (#4)

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  Playing Sweeter Romantic Comedy Standalones

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  Ms. Match Meets a Millionaire

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  Mr. Cupid Takes a Holiday

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  The Story of You and Me

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  Mortal Beloved Time Travel Series

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  The Messenger (#1)

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  The Assassin (#2)

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  The Seeker (#3)

  MYSTERY

  Annie Graceland Cozy Mysteries

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  Cupcakes, Lies, and Dead Guys (#1)

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  Cupcakes, Sales, and Cocktails (#2)

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  Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys (#3)

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  Cupcakes, Paws, and Bad Santa Claus (#4)

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  Cupcakes, Diaries, and Rotten Inquiries (#5)

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  Cupcakes, Bats, and Scare-dy Cats (#6)

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  Cupcakes, Bars, and Rock Stars (#7)

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  Cupcakes, Spies, and Despicable Guys (#8) — COMING SOON as a CHAPTERS Interactive Stories Game App !

  NON-FICTION

  Staying Young: Simple Techniques to Look and Feel Young

  Books in the Works

  The Believer

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  Mr. Cupid Takes a Holiday

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  SECRET STEAMY NEW SERIES!

  About The Duchess’s Decision

  THE CROWN AFFAIR: BOOK 4

  American commoner and all around sweetheart, Vivian DeRose, discovers she’s legally wed to Max’s brother Prince Leo as the deception, lies, lust and love heat up in the conclusion to the Crown Affair.

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  Money hungry thieves have conspired to arrested Prince Max in an attempt to wrest the monarchy away from the House of Rochartè. Now Vivian, her ladies and Prince Leo travel to Sicily to uncover the truth about the conspiracy and the opportunist who lays claim to the throne.

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  Can they spring Max from jail and stop the royal thieves before the monarchy crumbles?

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  Vivian will finally get her HEA with the Prince of Bellèno. But will Vivian choose Prince Maximillian — the spare? Or Prince Leopold —the heir?

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  "Deceit, suspense, jealously, heartbreak, Love, angst—it was like reading a contemporary version of The Crown. I could not put this book down." April Symes — Review of The Prince’s Playbook (#1).

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  The Duchess’s Decision © 2018 is the re-imagined, sexier version of Royally Wed: The Cock-Up © 2017. Additional content has been added to the original story.

  Be part of all the royal drama by playing the PART-TIME PRINCESS interactive game!

  Part-time Princess is coming soon (spring 2018) to CHAPTERS Interactive Stories games app available to play on select platforms. Play Part-time Princess on Chapters Interactive Stories. Find Chapters on Facebook.

  For

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  Kelly Hartog

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  Thanks for making the words prettier.

  Chapter 1

  VIVIAN

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  I shivered, pulled the sash of my woolen coat tighter around me, and adjusted the scarf that I’d been wearing for forty-eight straight hours. I’d already dribbled a mochaccino down my front and the smell of buttermilk-curdled crème mingled with the bitter fragrance of smashed dreams. It was a cold, crappy morning in hell and I wasn’t all that happy about it.

  I usually adored being in St. Luce, the capital city of Bellèno. The bustling European metropolis had an energy, and a friendly hustle-bustle vibe. And I adored its architecture – a mish-mash of modern structures made of concrete block and glass, juxtaposed with gorgeous older buildings that resembled decadent pastel pastries.

  The jail that my kind-of-husband was being held in fell into the former category. I stood in front of it, knowing my beloved Max was just behind its walls. It looked like a sad wedding cake that had been left out of the box for too long, icicles dripping from its roof.

  Perhaps I was projecting my own insecurities and simply describing myself. I was a hot mess. Makeup-less. Sleepless. Groom-less. Oh. Skip that one, because apparently there was a possibility that I was married, just not to the right guy. More specifically, not to the right brother.

  I had signed up to marry Prince Maximillian Rochartè of Bellèno, he of the wavy ginger hair, come hither hazel eyes, and six pack abs so ripp
ed, I massaged my hands against them every night. I had signed up, on numerous occasions might I add, to marry this delicious man with the hilarious sense of humor. He was the younger prince of Bellèno, the ‘spare’ to the throne, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass about royal titles and monarchy, pomp and privilege. I did, however, care very much about Max.

  I cared about the thoughts in Max’s brain, and every inch of his delectable body. I cared about his kindness, the way he treated people, myself included, with honor and dignity. I cared that he loved me so much he’d married me three, count that, three times now. Which is why it pained me that through some cruel twist of fate, I was now quite possibly legally wed to his older brother, Leo. Oh yes, a few days after my last royal wedding, Archbishop Causesdesperdues had butted into my life again, insisting that I was married to the other prince of Bellèno.

  What’s the problem, Vivian, one might ask. Leo was equally hot, the heir to Bellèno’s throne, the handsome chestnut-haired playboy crown prince who had slept with half of the eligible ladies in Europe, and was tackling other continents as well.

  I’d never had sex with Leo—but we’d made out a once or twice in the past—purely in the line of my former part-time job. And yes, I knew his attractions were… sizeable. But my brother-in-law’s charms were the least of my worries because my Max was still incarcerated.

  The royal St. Luce prison was in serious need of a paint job, but acted like it didn’t care, squatting imperiously behind high, thick, wrought iron fences. Palace guards wearing warm winter coats accented in the royal colors of purple, white, and gold stomped up and down the perimeters, trying not to shiver in the gloomy cold.

  It was January 2, and the skies were gray with approaching storm clouds. It had been two days since my Max had been taken into custody and thrown into jail by Archbishop Causesdesperdues and his bullies. Or as I liked to call him, Archbishop Asshat. Two days and two nights that my husband—maybe technically not my husband, but whatever, should have been my husband—had been forcibly removed from our home and ripped away from me.

  After Asshat’s guards cuffed Max, they escorted, or should I say—hauled—him away from our home, and stuffed him into the back seat of a black, shiny town car. I chased after them imploring them to release him. I swore like a sailor, while flipping them off with both hands, but they ignored me, and the sedan peeled off, smoke belching from its tailpipe.

  I raced after them, absolutely livid, until I couldn’t run any longer. I stopped, hunching over to catch my breath. I felt hopeless and helpless, but then realized what needed to be done. I rallied my ladies-in-waiting.

  We texted, phoned, Face-timed, messengered, and e-mailed. The ladies called their friends who called their friends, and now I, together with a few hundred women were marching in a sisterhood of protest outside the cakebread jail, carrying picket signs proclaiming: “Release Prince Max!” “False Arrest!” “Down with the Fake-riarchy!” and “Hell no, we won’t go!”

  Lady Joan Brady tugged on my arm and pulled me to the sidelines. “Vivian. Speaking of hell, you look just like it. Why don’t we take a quick break? It will do us both good.” She pulled a thermos from her Gareth Trent designer tote and unscrewed the top.

  I rubbed my hands together, pressed them to my mouth and blew on them. “I hope that’s the really extra strong super black coffee.”

  “Triple dark French blend for you, my friend.” She poured two cups of steaming brew and handed one to me. “It’ll zap you awake quicker than a cattle prod and bonus—it warms the hands. You’ve been out here since the night Max was arrested. You need some sleep, a warm bed, and as much as I love you, trust me on this, you need to shower.”

  I held up one arm, sniffed my armpit, and cringed. “Was Joan of Arc all that worried about her hygiene when leading French troops into war with the English?”

  “My namesake only had the locals following her. If the paparazzi had been hounding Joan it would have been a different story. She might have practiced her key talking points and polished her armor. Maybe it’s time you return to the townhouse and regroup. Let the palace lawyers and the bureaucrats figure this out.”

  “And leave Max all by himself inside a jail cell at the beginning of the New Year? At the start of our marriage? That would be a shitty thing to do to him, let alone set a terrible example of the kind of wife I aspire to be. I will not be the woman who’s only there for her husband during the good times. I didn’t enter this marriage for titles or headlines and trust me, he didn’t either.”

  “I know, Vivian.” Lady Esmeralda Castile von Haspburgh joined us. She held out her mug. “Caffeinate me, Joanie not of Arc.”

  She did, and Esmeralda sipped from her steaming cup. “My sources, Vivian, tell me now that if you’re wed to Leo, you’ll have moved up five places in the line to become Queen of Bellèno some day.”

  “I couldn’t care less about becoming the queen of anything.” I gazed at the prison, wondering if Max could see me through one of the windows from his cell, possibly on the second or third floor. On the off chance, I waved and then blew him a kiss.

  “That’s not true,” Joan said. “Everyone wants to become queen of something.”

  “Fine. You’re right,” I said. “I claim pizza. I’d like to become Queen of pizza some day. Thin crust, pepperoni with mushrooms. And for the last time, Esmeralda, you might think you know everything but you don’t. I’m not married to Leo!”

  “Archbishop Causesdesperdues says you are.”

  “Archbishop Causesdesperdues has his head up his ample, floppy, asshat behind. You were at my wedding. You listened to me pledge my vows.”

  “You must be saying something wrong because they don’t seem to be sticking.”

  “Then tell me what to say!” I grabbed Esmeralda by the shoulders of her double-breasted crimson coat and shook her. “I’ll say whatever I need to say, whatever promise I need to make to be married to Max. I pledged my vows to Max. NOT Leo!”

  I heard a distinct crack, and it came from Esmeralda’s back. She widened her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry!” I said. “Crap, I was somewhat violent with you. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fabulous. You just adjusted my middle back better than my chiropractor has done in years.”

  “Jesus Christ, I’m losing my mind.”

  A firm hand landed on my shoulder. “Trouble, ladies?”

  I swiveled and saw a familiar face. “Major Peters!” I stared at the handsome late thirty-something man in a military uniform.

  “Actually, it’s Captain Sam.”

  “Of course. Captain Sam. You helped us so much when Max was kidnapped.”

  “I’ll never forget our mission to Monaco,” he said. “You ladies were superb. Who knew you could harmonize like Diana Ross and the Supremes?”

  “We were the Ice Cream Dreams. That was crazy! It’s been a few months since I’ve seen you, Captain Sam. What brings you back to St. Luce?”

  “Oh, he knows what brought him to St. Luce,” Esmeralda said. “And Captain Sam also knows why he should have stayed the hell away.” She swiveled and walked off, her head high, her hips swaying from side to side.

  “Aren’t you going to say hi to Captain Sam?” I asked.

  She waved at us dismissively.

  “I don’t understand. I know we are all stressed out. But why is Esmeralda being so rude?”

  He cleared his throat. “Because I get under her skin.”

  “Pun intended?”

  “Yes. Happy New Year to you, Duchess.”

  “I’m not a Duchess.”