Prologue
“Nottingham, get up!It’s urgent.”
Grumbling and groaning, Sterling untangled himself from his sheets and the slender limbs of three gorgeous women–actresses all that he’d coaxed back to his bed after a smashing rendition of Shakespeare’sA Midsummer’s Night Dream–to sit up and glower at Lord Fieldstone.
“London better bloody well be on fire,” he growled, “if you’re waking me at this godforsaken hour.” Squinting, he rubbed his bloodshot eyes and peered through the thin gossamer curtains lining the windows of his opulently appointed Mayfair townhouse. He’d another, larger home in Grosvenor Square, but this was closer to the theater and besides, his sister was visiting.
As a general rule, Sterling did not abide by any rules.
He drank to excess.
He slept with whomever he pleased.
He caroused all hours of the night and stayed in bed all day.
But a few of the multitude of benefits that came from being the second son of a duke, a title that now belonged to his older–and much less fun–brother, Sebastian.
Some might have bemoaned their lot at having been born the spare, and thus denied the opportunity to inherit a dukedom. But not Sterling. He liked his life. In fact, he damned well loved it. There were no responsibilities. No high expectations. No expectations at all, really.
However, there wasonerule that he tried to follow amidst all the debauchery. And that was no orgies at the house when his little sister was present. Thus, when he’d stumbled out of the theater with Titania, Hermia, and Helena, he came to Mayfair to protect Sarah’s delicate sensibilities.
Which explained whathewas doing here.
But not Lord Fieldstone.
“Did you leave something in the carriage?” he asked, scratching his unshaven jaw where he’d allowed five–or was it six?–days of stubble to grow, much to the dismay of his personal valet who insisted on clinging to the vain hope that one day Sterling would wake up and decide to make a gentleman of himself.
“No, no. I mean I might have, but–” Fieldstone cut himself short and raked an agitated hand through his short blond hair. “It’s Sebastian.”
Sterling grimaced. “Is he downstairs? Damnit, I thought he was at Hanover Park until tomorrow. Does he have that glint in his eyes? The judgmental one.” He sighed. “I hate that glint.”
Fieldstone stared at him. “Your brother is in London. We spoke with him last night after we left the theater. You insisted on it.”
“Did I?” Now he frowned. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
“I told you it wasn’t a good idea, that it should wait until morning, but you were adamant. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Jumped right out of the carriage when you saw him walking by.”
“Thatdoessound like me.” He started to grin, winced when the inside of his skull gave an answering throb. “Did you bring any scotch with you, per chance?”
“Sterling, this isserious.”
“Only if you didn’t bring any scotch. Whiskey? Gin?” he said hopefully when Fieldstone gave a curt shake of his head. “You mean to tell me you’ve come knocking on my door at–what time is it, anyway?”
“Half past five. Sterling–”
“At half past five in the morning to talk about my perfect older brother, and you didn’t bring so much as a bottle of cheap gin? For shame, Fieldstone. Forshame.”
Titania sat up, her delightful breasts on full display and her mouth curved in a pout. “Come back to bed,” she implored, patting the mattress. Her gaze slid to Fieldstone and turned coy. “You too, handsome.”
“Another time,” Fieldstone said distractedly.
“Are you feeling all right?” Sterling asked his friend with great concern. “Should I call a doctor?”
“Yes, yes you should call a doctor! Have him sent immediately to Wimbledon Common.”
The throbbing in Sterling’s head abruptly ceased as everything inside of him went very still and very cold. Comprised of a thousand acres, Wimbledon Common dwarfed Hyde Park in both size and notoriety. While not a popular destination for flaunting a new curricle or a mistress, itwasrenowned for one thing: dueling.
Such an act had been outlawed in England for longer than Sterling had been alive. But a recent, highly publicized duel between Colonel James Boswell and the Earl of Grenville over a dispute involving a horse had brought it into favor again.
