Prologue
June 2, 1826
The Duke ofHartwick glanced down again at the missive that had just been delivered. As he tried to decipher the cryptic message it contained, he paced the plush carpet.
I have the information you are seeking. Please allow me to ask your forgiveness in person. Meet me on the south side of St. James Park at midnight. Look for my coachman. Be careful not to be followed. ~Galey
A thousand questions raced through his mind. Galey was one of his father’s oldest friends; what did he know about the circumstances around his family’s deaths? What could he possibly need to apologize for? Why the clandestine meeting? Why not just meet in a private room at the club? Or visit him at his home?Very strange indeed.And how did Galey even know about his inquiries? Could Hart finally receive answers to the suspicions that had eaten at him for years?
The thief who killed both his father and older brother five years ago, and thrust him into the role of Duke of Hartwick, had snatched away the two men he admired most in the world. He had been quietly investigating the circumstances surrounding their deaths ever since to no avail. Hart knew deep down in his soul that the two had been dead long before their bodies had been found shot through the chest in a hack on the Strand. If Lord Galey had any information that would help Hart discover the true cause of their demise, then he would meet him anywhere he wished, under any circumstance.
The low rumble of music and voices filtered through the door and beckoned him back to the party. Lucy would be waiting for him. Exiting the quiet of his study, he strode down the corridor and approached the doors to his ballroom.
Two footmen flanked the double doors. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Tell Mr. Kent to have the carriage brought around in thirty minutes.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” One of the footmen scrambled off to find Hart’s coachman.
The other opened the massive, gilded door that led into the ballroom.
Hart walked into the crowded room. Music from a string quartet and the rise and fall of conversation assaulted his ears. The ballroom of Hartwick House was illuminated by hundreds of candles. Guests danced across the intricately pattern wood floors; some mingled along the edges, sipping wine and spirits, and many spilled through the open French doors onto the large stone veranda in search of cooler evening air. He scanned the crowded ballroom for Lucy. He had promised her a dance, and even with the urgency clawing at his gut, he wouldn’t go back on a promise. He flipped open his pocket watch; it was only eleven. Where was the birthday girl?
Then he spotted her standing next to his great-aunt Trudy. The two of them stood next to an open glass-paned door that led to the outside. Lucy’s cheeks were flushed pink from the heat. She took a sip from the glass she held, and her nose wrinkled in distaste. He chuckled. Moving toward them, he snatched two glasses of champagne from the tray of a roving footman. Today marked Lucy’s twenty-second birthday.
Lucy’s father, Captain Middleton, had been a good friend of the family, and when he and his wife died, Hart’s father had been designated as the young girl’s guardian. Hart had unofficially been looking out for Lucy since his father’s death, but really, watching out for Lucy had been his job for years. A job that should have been an easy one. He sighed; nothing was easy when it came to Lucy Middleton.
His father had sent him to smooth things over at Ms. Bolen’s School for Young Ladies of Quality countless times over the five years Lucy had attended. And each time she had promised to behave better. Since her time at school, she had been living with Aunt Trudy, and the shenanigans had continued as Trudy sponsored Lucy’s foray out on the marriage mart. He grudgingly gave Lucy credit for her spirit. Nobody pushed around her or her friends, for that matter. But she should have been safely married off by now… and not his problem anymore.
Thank God for Great-Aunt Trudy. The old girl had taken Lucy into her home and under her care when Hart’s world had been flipped upside down. Lucy acted as Trudy’s companion and the two got along famously. Not that Trudy was the ideal chaperone, more likely to join into the trouble than put a stop to it. Hart plastered a smile on his face as he approached the two ladies.
As always, Lucy looked beautiful. A blue ribbon weaved through the chestnut curls piled high on her head. Her dress fell in a waterfall of shimmering blue silk that complemented the startling blue of her eyes. Those eyes were fixed on him, and her pink lips turned up into a smile. “Hart!”
Hart nodded. “Good evening, Aunt Trudy, Lucy. Enjoying your birthday celebration, brat?” He handed a glass of champagne to his aunt, then plucked the lemonade from Lucy’s hand, and replaced it with the sparkling wine.
“Very much, Your Grace.” She raised an eyebrow. “So, I’m allowed wine now?”
He shrugged. “Today is your birthday. It’s no time for tepid lemonade.”
The grin she flashed him was blinding. She took a swallow of champagne. “Delicious.”
“Hartwick, where have you been all evening?” Aunt Trudy trilled. “You are the host, and I have seen nary a hair on your head since the receiving line.”
“I received an important missive and needed to take care of crafting an immediate response.”
“Bah, you are the most eligible bachelor here. You have been hiding. Don’t bother to deny it.” She waggled a finger at him.
He held up his hands in protest. “Truly, I had business to take care of, Aunt. Your accusations are unfounded. You know how much I like to flirt.” He winked at Lucy, making her smile behind her glass.
“Well, perhaps before the flirting begins and ladies begin swooning at your feet, you can claim the dance you promised me,” Lucy said.
“Indeed, I did not forget.” He transferred their empty glasses to a passing footman and held out a hand as the music changed.
Lucy laid her hand in his, and they strolled to the center of the room. The waltz began. He pulled Lucy into his arms. “So, who here tonight does Auntie have her eye on for you?”
Lucy’s nose wrinkled again as she glanced up at him. “Colonel Harrington. But I won’t have it; he’s even older than you.”
Hart twirled her out with one hand and clasped the other to his chest in mock horror. “You wound me and all men of maturity with your derision.”
