Volume the First
Prologue the First
London, England
July 1803
“Come now, Leith,”John hissed into the carriage, as he stood on the street.“The ladies won’t bite.”
“Or muss your clothes.Overly.”Trem laughed, sticking his head over John’s shoulder so he could see Leith, who still sat in the carriage.Soon, though, he cast his eyes back up at the elegant townhome looming in front of them.
John and Trem had been speaking of this excursion for months.They had insisted they would all go to Madame Stirling’s place the moment they next got to London, and now they were all here.Because if John and Trem wanted something, they got it.
“He doesn’t have to come inside if he doesn’t want to,” Monty said.He was on the other side of the carriage door, peering inward, his usual kindly smile on his face.A different smile than Trem’s vulpine grin or John’s smirk.
They were all best friends, but Leith and Monty were particularly close, just like John and Trem had their own bond.Leith appreciated Monty’s solicitude, although it also embarrassed him, especially in front of John and Trem, whose eyes were shining in the dim evening light.Their faces and voices had been loosened by whiskey and their excitement over what the night would hold.
“Oh, he wants to,” said Trem.“He just doesn’t want to get in trouble.With his mother or the masters, if they find out.Which they won’t.”
“Don’t be a prig, mate,” John teased.“You’ll regret it if you don’t come in.”
Thomas Balfour, the Marquess of Leith, all of seventeen years of age, sat in the carriage, unable to move.Trem was right, of course—hedidwant to go inside, and hedidfear getting in trouble.But that wasn’t the whole of it.
He wasn’t like John or Trem or Monty.They didn’t know it, but he hadn’t bedded a woman yet.He pretended that he had—nonsense about serving girls and the like—but the truth was that he was still a virgin.His best friends, on the other hand, weren’t lying.Their conquests were real.He had seen evidence.Christ, in some cases, he hadheardevidence.
“Leith, there’s a tavern around the corner,” Monty said.“Why don’t we just go and have a pint—”
“No,” Leith forced himself to say.“It’s fine.I’m coming up.”
Trem and John cheered.
“Are you certain?”Monty said, his expression of sanguine concern making Leith feel even worse, somehow, than John and Trem’s jeering.
“Yes, of course,” he snapped.
He knew Monty could see his nerves.Leith suspected his best friend knew about his lack of experience.He had never said it out loud to Monty and, in fact, he had repeated the same lies about his sexual history to him that he had to the others, but Leith sensed that, somehow, Monty knew the truth anyway.
The four young men entered the town house, which was lavishly appointed.A butler saw them into the drawing room, as if they were entering any fine home in the city, and not one of its most hallowed brothels.
Leith could feel sweat prickling under his collar.He would have taken another swig of whiskey from the flask in his pocket, but he already felt sick, and he doubted drink would help.
When they entered the drawing room, six beautiful women, all of whom looked only a few years older than themselves, perched on sofas and divans.The women rose and murmured their greetings, and an older woman on the center sofa, clearly Madame Stirling, bid the footmen to serve refreshment.
Quickly, John filtered off through a door with a ravishing blonde.Trem followed soon after, leading a slim brunette who Leith, upon entry, had regarded as the most handsome woman in the room.
He was not sure how his friends managed it.The women had seemed drawn to them by some force that Leith himself did not possess.
“Are you truly well?”Monty asked.
A plump redhead, with a face full of rather becoming freckles, had approached Monty.From the way his best friend’s eyes had gone round, it was clear Monty was interested.
“Yes,” he hissed, although he was not at all sure that he was.He had seldom been so ill at ease.
“Is your friend bashful?”the redhead said to Monty, softly.
“No,” Leith said, desperately.
“Belinda,” the redhead said, gesturing to a woman in the corner.“One for you.”
