London, England

December 1814

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Daniel Greaves, the Duke of Linwood, gulped down his final tumbler of scotch for the evening—or was it early morning?—as he stood from his seat on unsteady legs, the perfect vantage point to witness all the Christmastide festivities surrounding him. It was hard to determine if there was more bare flesh surrounding him or red-and-green-covered bodies, their flesh draped with holiday finery. His head swam slightly when he took the first step toward the door. Reaching out, he stabilized his balance and continued to the exit.

“Your coat, your grace?” a footman asked at his elbow, already holding out Daniel’s overgarment. When Daniel made to take the jacket and drape it over his arm, the servant continued. “The temperature has plummeted since your arrival, and the wind is fierce. Allow me to assist you.”

The gold-and-green-garbed servant held Daniel’s jacket out, ready for him to slip his arms into the sleeves; as if he were a child needing an adult to keep him from falling ill for going out in the elements without proper attire. He wasn’t a lad, hadn’t been in too many years to count, but manners prevented him from saying as much to the footman.

“Leaving so soon, Danny Boy?” Phineas—Lord Gable—shouted across the room. “The morning is early yet, there’s plenty of time to rush home for Christmas breakfast with your family.”

There it was, confirmation the night had passed into the wee hours of Christmas morning.

“I really sh…ould be going.” Dizziness coursed through Daniel when he turned to face his friend. “I need to be…” Daniel swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “Going.”

“Aw, well.” Phineas inclined his head. “Give your family my best regards and wishes for the new year.”

“Will do.” Daniel slipped his arms into his waiting coat. Calling Phineas a friend was a stretch of their association. The man obviously didn’t know Daniel well enough, nor cared to know him well enough, to know Daniel had no family. That he would return to his deserted townhouse to spend the holiday alone. Same as it had been since his father passed away seven years before. “Tell your family the same.”

“Will do, Danny Boy.”

Daniel cringed at the moniker. He’d hated it since the day Phineas had dubbed him with it at Cordell’s, a gaming hell they’d both frequented several years before—the place they’d met. However, he’d never had the drive to tell the man he despised the name. That would signify Phineas meant something to him. The truth was, Daniel barely knew the man. They were not close, and they simply used one another for the same purpose: to keep away the loneliness and reinforce their miserable, self-serving lives. Nothing more significant lay outside their extravagant lifestyle of drinking, gambling, and women.

With swift fingers, certainly much more under control than they should be after the dozen tumblers of scotch he’d ingested, Daniel buttoned his coat. Female laughter filled the room when Phineas pulled a scantily clad woman onto his knee and tugged the front of her crimson gown down to reveal her heavy, rounded breasts.

It was something Daniel would commonly chuckle over, but the garish extravagance of the night had lost its appeal and he felt the draw to flee the scene.

Daniel flipped the collar of his jacket up and shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he pivoted and strode from the room, loud with drunken men and buxom women hoping to garner large amounts of coin when their night was done and their services no longer needed.

That it was Christmas mattered naught. Their nights were much the same, whether it be August or December.

“Your carriage will be brought round, your grace.” Daniel nodded to the attentive butler posted in the foyer, noting that the servant didn’t quite meet his eyes when he spoke. “You may want to wait here.”

Another servant thinking Daniel needed someone to instruct him on what to do every moment. Was this how Phineas chose to live? Ordered about by compensated servants?

He clenched his teeth to suppress his irritation.

He was bloody tired—no, exhausted—and in need of his bed before the raging headache and hangover certain to follow his night of drinking arrived. “I will wait outside.”

With a nod, the butler pulled the door open for him to depart.

Daniel did not pause to address the sympathetic look the servant bestowed on him.

The freezing early-morning air could only help clear his alcohol-addled mind and banish the pity he’d seen in the butler’s stare.

Stepping out into the early morning, Daniel breathed in deeply, allowing the frigid air to reach his lungs—holding it there for longer than was normal—before exhaling. His breath swooshed from him, visible in the dark, yet several hours before the sun crested above the horizon to expel the intense chill.

“Good evening, your grace.” The door closed on the butler’s departing farewell.

A resounding, solid, final thud.

Daniel stepped off the stoop and into the open drive, no longer protected from the wind. A gust blew, chilling him to the bone, straight through his heavy woolen jacket. Maybe he should have listened and waited for his coachman in the warmth of the foyer. Though, Daniel already felt his mind clear, the breeze pushing the haze away much like the late-morning wind pushed the fog from the harbor. Daniel tilted his head back and closed his eyes. His head immediately swam, and he stumbled, but he refused to open his lids as he fought to regain his balance.

“You, there!” a man shouted.

Daniel sighed and turned toward the call. Who in the bloody hell was shouting for him? The twang of a coming headache pulsed behind his eyes.

“Stop!” Feet pounded against the hard-packed alley along Phineas’s townhouse from the stables behind as a boy—no more than ten and two—came barreling around the corner, a livery servant close on his tail. “Thief! I said halt, before I sound the alarm!”

The child was almost upon Daniel where he stood in the shadows of the stoop, awaiting his carriage.

Quickly—far too swiftly for a man who’d drunk as much as Daniel—he reached out and snagged the boy’s collar.

With a yelp, the child swung under Daniel’s hold as his feet left the ground. It halted him, though he continued to pull and tug in protest.

“Let me go, ye tosser.” The boy squirmed and kicked, trying to connect with Daniel’s shin.

Daniel chuckled at the term, said in a voice several octaves too high for a lad.

“Thank you, your grace,” the livery servant called. “My master has been called.”

“Let me go, ye nob.” The boy twisted to break free from Daniel’s hold. “Me pa be look’n for me soon.”

“What do you have there, son?” Daniel asked, sinking to a squat to have a look at what the boy attempted to hide under his arm. When the boy’s feet touched the cobblestone, his wiggling nearly knocked Daniel to the ground as the child continued to struggle.

“I be no toff’s son,” the boy argued.

“All right, then,” Daniel said. “What is your name?”

“I be Charlie, Charlie Drummond.”

“Well, Charlie, what are you doing sneaking around Lord Gable’s house at this hour?” Daniel asked. “You should be abed.”

The boy snorted loudly; as if anyone with half a brain should know why he was about. “If I be sleep’n, then me mum and sisters be wake’n ta no food, ye toff.”

“Then would it not be best to gather something to eat instead of loitering about Lord Gable’s?” Daniel asked, staring pointedly at the boy.

Charlie removed the package tucked under his arm and held it out to show Daniel but did not loosen his hold on his treasure. “That’s what I be do’n, ye blighter.”

In his hands was a fresh loaf of bread wrapped in butcher paper.

“You stole this, young man?” Daniel stood, keeping a firm hold on Charlie’s collar as he wrapped the bread once more and tucked it back under his arm.

“How else we ta eat?” Charlie spit out with a snort.

“That is a good question, son.” Daniel rarely gave the lower class and their circumstances much thought. “Do you live close?”

“Let me go, ye toff,” Charlie whined. “If’n the master catches me, he said he be make’n sure I never eat again.”

Daniel chuckled at the boy’s dramatic plea. “Oh, come now, Charlie. Lord Gable is an understanding man.” And would never notice a loaf of bread had been pilfered from his pantry. Yet someone had noticed and given pursuit. Though Daniel couldn’t imagine Phineas letting ol’ Peggy off his lap long enough to handle the situation himself.

Following that thought, however, light streamed over Daniel’s shoulder as the front door swung open behind him. The color drained from Charlie’s face, and the bread dropped to the ground beside him, rolling free of its wrapping.

“Please, m’lord.” Charlie’s shoulders caved in, and Daniel swore the boy looked younger than before—frightened and helpless. “I be right—“

“What did I tell you the last time you were caught stealing from me?” Phineas’s deep voice thundered behind Daniel.

Daniel turned to see a man he hardly recognized, Phineas’s face flushed by his evening of being deep in his cups. Lord Gable had always appeared the blasé nobleman, unconcerned with anything that did not bring him pleasure. The anger that rolled off the man now was foreign and altogether unwarranted for such a minor offense as the boy pilfering bread to feed his family.

“I…well…“ Charlie stammered.

“Gaines!” Phineas called to the livery who’d chased the boy around the townhouse. “Take the vermin to the stables. I will be round as soon as I make certain my guests are entertained.”

Daniel winked at the boy and released his collar, but he stood frozen. “Now, Phineas,” Daniel started, walking toward the man. “Charlie here is sorry, and he won’t give you any more trouble.” As if on cue, Daniel spotted his carriage coming round the house from the stables.

His host stepped off the stoop and strode toward Daniel, no visible signs of the massive amount of scotch he’d guzzled over the past several hours.

His eyes never wavered from Charlie.

“Your carriage has arrived, Linwood.” Phineas jerked his head toward the approaching conveyance. “Have a pleasant Christmastide.”

“I will see the boy home and speak with his pa about his thievery from your kitchen.” Daniel set his hand on Charlie’s shoulder and made to turn him toward his waiting coach, but the boy remained stock-still, staring at Phineas. “Come, Charlie.”

“The boy will not be going with you, Daniel.” Phineas shook his head, one auburn curl breaking free to land across his forehead, all informality leaving his tone. “This urchin and I have had dealings before. He’s been caught stealing several times. I’ve warned him, and he continues to disobey me.”

A chill ran down Daniel’s spine when the man kept his eyes locked on Charlie.

It was a side of Phineas he’d never witnessed. His intense, focused glare was highly unsettling.

“You have guests awaiting you, Phineas.” Daniel attempted to distract him once more. “Do not allow this to ruin your celebration. I can handle Charlie.”

“That will not be needed.” Phineas turned to his livery servant. “Gaines, bring the miscreant round to the stables. Now.”

Daniel set his hand on the boy’s shoulder. His thin frame quaked under the pressure as a gust of wind hit the boy in the face. A lone tear streaked down Charlie’s face, leaving a trail of murky, dirt-streaked skin until the drop landed on the lapel of his thin, patched coat.

“You may go, Linwood.” When Daniel made no move to depart, Phineas stalked his way, his boots thundering across the cobbled drive until he stood directly in front of him. Their noses were a mere inch apart. “Get in your carriage and leave.”

Phineas’s foul, alcohol-laced breath invaded Daniel’s senses. If he hadn’t already been deep in his cups, he would have become so from the fumes alone—not to mention the scent of cheap perfume made him woozy.

“I said go.” Phineas lunged forward, shoving Daniel toward his carriage, putting himself between him and Charlie.

Daniel was uncertain what prompted him to regain his balance, take one last look at Charlie, and climb into his waiting coach; however, that was what he did.

Phineas was not a cruel man, not unreasonable. Certainly, he was not someone who would harm a mere child for attempting to steal a loaf of bread to feed his family on Christmastide morning.

Daniel would never injure a child, especially one who only sought to care for his family. Phineas was raised the same as he…a lord, with the proper decorum expected of men of a certain class and status.

“Where to, your grace?” his driver shouted once seated atop the enclosed carriage once more.

“Home.” His command was barely out and the carriage in motion, pulling out of the curved drive, when the cries of the young boy reached him, following him until the early morning breeze was not strong enough to carry the sound any farther. “Turn around!”