Chapter One
London, 1808
Alonzo, the Dukeof Pridegate, had longed to return to London for over a year. He craved the familiar and crowded streets of Town, his city, as he had always considered it. Every oyster had its treasure, and though he would never admit it openly, he considered himself the pearl of London. He attempted to dismiss that selfish thought from his mind—to train himself to be more humble. Even the scandal sheets went too far in describing him as the prince’s favorite and a lord of debauchery.
Under the latest headlines in the ‘Fashionable World’ section of theMorning Post, it stated:a certain DP has returned after a long tour on the Continent where he not only entertained the nobles of Paris, but the eccentric DP also indulged in endless debauchery, surrendering to his hedonistic tastes without pause…
He licked his full lips as he stopped in front of a shop window, checking his reflection to make sure his cravat, tied impeccably, had not been loosened by his rather vigorous excursion along St. James’s and Piccadilly, where he had been admiring a pair of boots. He had a long list of unusual habits, and the good people of London should be more forgiving of his greedy nature. Did he not provide a service to his country, after all?
The Prince Regent had referred to Farrington as a siren only two years ago when he last performed at the palace. A celebrated Verdi baritone already, endorsement by the royal only complicated his life—it attracted undesirables. There had been a woman—Madeline Hershey, an American heiress with her sights set on him—in search of an English title in exchange for her family fortune. It had not taken much to tempt Alonzo, for he preferred slim blonds with blue eyes and pouty lips that begged for many kisses. Which led to a scandal at the end of the Season.
Maddie allowed herself to be compromised, too skillfully for a young lady. He’d suffered a pummeling from her over-protective Mama and even paid her a handsome sum to go back to America—yet her letters still followed him wherever he traveled. Paris, Rome, and Vienna—just yesterday, one had arrived at his townhouse in Mayfair. Should he worry she had spies in London? The beauty was resourceful and rich enough to get any working-class man to do her bidding. He grinned at his flawless reflection and then turned about, casting a gaze of superiority down the sidewalk.
The street was congested with carriages and pedestrians. Farrington chose the sunny side of the street to stroll down, his gait that of an aristocrat without a care in the world. It was his nature to pursue beautiful women, to seduce them, to bed them. The fact that only one of a hundred had…
“Mama,” a feminine voice sounded from somewhere nearby, “is that…”
“Abby…” a more mature woman intoned.
“The Duke of Pridegate!”
“Abigale, cease such untoward behavior. If the duke wishes…”
Farrington knew what was sure to follow, so he picked up his pace, crossing the street as quickly as he could, darting between a variety of conveyances and making it safely to the other side. Surely, he would blend with the crowd.
“I know it is you!”
He looked up just in time to see the pretty debutante rushing across the road, waving her hand wildly with little regard for her physical wellbeing or reputation.
“Please,” she called to him. “If only I could speak with you.”
He sighed in frustration, where there was one… honey attracted flies, and at the moment, Farrington was a sweet treat for any gently-bred, young woman. He searched earnestly for a way around her, his goal never to humiliate a female admirer, only to avoid causing a scene.
“Charlotte Jameson,” he heard another woman say primly. “I insist you come back here right now.”
Dear God.He took a quick count; there were four young women headed in his direction, all with determined faces, all wanting a piece of his… morning coat? He felt the strength of a hundred fingers at his back and the sound of fine fabric ripping. Were they mad? Barely escaping their panicked hold, he dashed across the street again, desperate for sanctuary. A crowd had started to gather on both sides of the popular roadway. He swore he recognized a few faces, some laughing at him, others pointing.
With a brief look to his left, he found his friend, Ramsey, the Earl of Ravenly, who seemed to be enjoying Farrington’s less than ideal circumstance. Having reached the end of the row of shops, he followed a narrow walkway to an alley and sprinted through an open doorway at the back of the building.
There must be somewhere to hide before the herd of young ladies trampled him, or even worse, did more damage to his clothes. He blindly threw open a wooden door, then another, bursting into a hallway where… he collided with something or someone, for a loud whoosh filled his ears.
Recovering from the force of the collision, he stared down where an elegant tangle of golden hair and slim limbs were sprawled before him. With urgency, he knelt and tried to help the woman to her feet, to no avail, for he was met by the angriest yet most intriguing wide brown eyes he had ever seen. Those eyes were framed by golden lashes that vibrated with movement like hummingbird wings. Never a favorable sign from a lady.
“Madam…”
She scooped up the pile of books she had dropped. “Sir, if you wish to speak with me, please do so when I am recovered and on my feet.”
He sighed, sure he would get a tongue-lashing as soon as she righted herself. He rose to his feet and waited politely, wishing she would accept his assistance, but there was an air of confidence about this woman and a natural beauty that made him want to preen.
“If you wish to spar,” she said, “I am sure you could find a rival at Gentleman Jackson’s Rooms.”
Now that she was standing in front of him, he promptly assessed her as he would a mare at market… were her features arranged attractively? Bosom—generous… neck—as sleek and lovely as a Greek pillar… the shape of her face… the preferred oval… nose—pert and straight… eyes, which he had already taken note of—very dark and very bright and focused on him… hair—golden with streaks of darker blond, even copper if he weren’t mistaken, pulled back with a blue ribbon, ringlets accentuating her attractive face… teeth—white and straight… skin—flawless… hips…
“My eyes are up here,” she spoke again, forcing his gaze to a more respectable area of her person.
When their gazes met, she shook her head in obvious annoyance.
“The public is not allowed to use the back entrance to the bookstore,” she chastised. “The front of the store is in that direction.” She pointed for clarity’s sake.
