Page 9 of The Dueling Duchess

This was an exclusive—as the newspaper men called them—and was about one of the wickedest and most outrageous men in England, Gaius Darlington, the Marquess of Carlisle, the Darling of the Ton.

Cecile gobbled up the story as if it were a sticky mass of Turkish delight.

“It will be no surprise to readers to learn that the M___ of C___ has been up to his tricks again! This time with none other than the lovely and elusive wife of the D___ of L___ , who has, up until now, been as heavily fortified against invaders as Edinburgh Castle. Not only did C___ breech those defenses, but he was captured in the middle of his . . . assault by none other than the D___ of L___ himself!”

Cecile lowered the newspaper, her jaw sagging at what she’d just read and then reread.

The Darling had been caught in flagrante delicto with the breathtakingly lovely Duchess of Leicester? Cecile knew the duchess was lovely because she’d seen more than one illustration of the brand-new peeress in various print shop windows. Not only was she surpassingly beautiful, but she was also twenty-five years younger than her reputedly doting husband.

Oh, the Darling was so wicked and shameless!

Was there nothing the outrageous Lord Carlisle would not do?

Not that cuckolding other men was anything new for the Darling. No, hardly a month passed in which he wasn’t caught escaping from some woman’s boudoir—on one infamous occasion he was seen scaling down a three-story trellis—or engaging in some other scandalous imbroglio that usually involved beautiful women and a less than proper complement of clothing.

But for a husband to actually catch the marquess in the act? No, that was something entirely new.

And deliciously, despicably debauched.

There was no denying that a scandal of this magnitude was likely to be immortalized in Mr. Humphrey’s print shop window.

Although there were dozens of print shops in the city that posted satirical cartoons in their windows for the enjoyment of passing pedestrians, Mr. Humphrey’s always had the latest and the most risqué. The poor man had been hauled off to jail on more than one occasion for the lewd content of some of his illustrations.

Cecile smiled and shuffled the papers back into a neat stack. If this story was already in the paper, there was a good chance the illustration might be in Humphrey’s window this very afternoon.

She would read the rest of her papers later. Right now, she would have to change into her new navy walking costume and make her way—

The door to the dressing room swung open, and Marianne—who was scowling rather ferociously—entered the room with two men on her heels.

When Marianne saw Cecile, her scowl turned to surprise. “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was in here. We can go—”

Cecile stood. “No, no, I was just leaving.” Her gaze flickered over the two men, both tall and dressed like laborers, standing just behind Marianne, and then back to Marianne, whose pale cheeks were flushed, her hazel eyes flashing.

“Is something wrong?” Cecile asked.

“No. Nothing wrong,” Marianne said, her cheeks getting even darker.

Did her friend look . . . guilty?

Cecile glanced from Marianne back to the men.

There was something familiar about one of the men, whom she saw—upon closer examination—was actually quite startlingly handsome.

Now where had she seen him before? He wasn’t dressed like one of the punters who normally came to see the shows, but neither did his worn clothing look quite . . . right.

She shrugged off the thought and turned to look at his companion.

Interesting. He was also attractive.

Exceptionally attractive, actually.

Cecile turned back to the first man again.

He frowned at her.

She blinked and his image seemed to shift slightly.

Cecile’s jaw dropped. No wonder he looked familiar! She had seen him before, but he’d looked utterly different. The man was none other than the Duke of Staunton—whom society columnists called Lord Flawless and His Grace of Flawless, among other things.