Chapter One
London, July 1816
A scandalous wager, a marchioness in disguise and a notorious London brothel. Julian couldn’t deny it had all the makings of an excellent farce.
Off stage, it was rather less amusing.
Bloody hell.One would think a marchioness who gambled with her reputation would choose an anonymous brothel in a quiet part of the city for her whorehouse romp. Instead, the Marchioness of Hadley had chosen this one.
Devil take her.
He peered into the dimly-lit parlor. Despite the muted light and the haze of acrid smoke, he could see the place was crowded with fashionably dressed gentlemen. A man might tend to ignore everything else when he cupped a plump breast or a shapely thigh in his hand, but if one of these drunken dandies happened to recognize him, he’d have a glorious headline in the scandal sheets tomorrow.
Triumphant Hero Returns to London, Frolics with a Whore.
A dark haired doxy sidled up to him and gave his arm a flirtatious tap. “In or out, guv. Wot will it be?”
Julian raised an eyebrow. “Inorout? Must I settle for one or the other?”
The doxy blinked at him, then broke into a hoarse cackle. “Aw right then, luv, how’s this? In or out, orin and out.” She punctuated the feeble jest with a rude hand gesture.
Julian’s lips quirked. Ah, there it was. A quick-witted whore. It was something new, anyway.
Encouraged, the doxy rose to her tiptoes, put her mouth to his ear and whispered in what she no doubt imagined to be a seductive voice, “It’s wot ye came fer, innit?”
It stood to reason. If a man wanted ale, he went to an alehouse. If he wanted to shoe his horse, he went to a blacksmith. If he wanted a woman and one wasn’t readily available, he went to a whore. It was a simple enough matter.
Except it wasn’t. Not this time. “No. I came for a marchioness.”
The doxy flashed a gap-toothed grin. “’Course ye did. Dinnit I tell ye, guv? I’m a duchess, I am.”
Julian rolled his eyes. No doubt this duchess was much like every other—more trouble than she was worth, but he couldn’t hover in the entryway all night waiting to snatch a wayward marchioness. He needed a prop, and a doxy in the hand was worth two anywhere else.
Well. Not quiteanywhereelse, but he wouldn’t be here long enough to maneuver her into a more satisfying location. Damn it, it was just like his cousin, Cam, to send him off to a whorehouse in pursuit of a marchioness instead of a whore. But it could be hours before Lady Hadley deigned to appear, and in the meantime…
He let the dark-haired doxy drag him across the threshold into a shadowy corner of the parlor. The gentlemen around him lounged on sumptuous red velvet divans, glasses of port or whiskey in their hands, many of them with women in various stages of undress perched on their laps. The low, continuous buzz of conversation was occasionally punctuated by a high-pitched squeal or giggle.
“There now,” his doxy cooed, “not so hard, was it, luv? Don’t ye worry, though,” she added with a smirk. “It will be once the duchess gets ahold of it.”
Julian felt an embarrassingly quick surge of interest in his lower extremities. He hadn’t had a woman in…well. He couldn’t quite recall how long it had been, but long enough so even the doxy duchess held a certain appeal. Every other part of him might rebel at the thought, but his body demanded a woman. The need was like a flea crawling under his skin, and the more he tried to ignore it, the more pressing it became.
He’d have to mount something other than his horse, and soon, so he may as well scratch the itch here and now. It insisted on being scratched, and it would have its way whether he willed it or not. If he tried to return to his old life with such a burden of lust in his loins, there was no telling how he’d be tempted to satisfy it.
The doxy ran her hands up the front of his chest, unbuttoning his waistcoat as she went. “That’s it. Just relax, now, luv.”
The burden in question began to swell insistently against his falls, much to the doxy’s approval. Her eyes widened with appreciation. “Coo. Yer a duke right e’nuf, eh, guv? Naught but a duchess will do fer that bit—but wot’s this, now?” She dove for his waistcoat pocket, her fingers as deft as any thief’s, and held up a round, flat object.
Julian grabbed her wrist, hard—much harder than he’d intended to—and held on until her hand fell open. “Don’t touch that.” He snatched it away from her.
She gave him an indignant look. “I wasna going ter take it, guv.”
He stared down at her thin fingers, dumbfounded, a wave of confused shame washing over him.Jesus.He hadn’t meant to grab her like that. She’d only reached into his pocket, but he’d reacted as if she’d put a blade to his throat.
“Well, what it is, then?” the whore demanded. “The crown jewels? Must be, fer ye to take on so.”
He opened his palm to reveal a pocket watch in a plain, gilded case. He hesitated for a moment, then flicked it open and turned the watch in her direction. “It belonged to a friend of mine, and it’s… Well, I don’t like anyone to touch it.”
Her nose wrinkled with disdain. “Wot, that’s all? Wrong time too, innit?”
