Hanover Square, London

March 1815

“Preposterous, senseless rubbish.” Roderick Crofton, the seventh Duke of Montrose, pushed the London Daily Gazette away from him on the breakfast table and scowled at his now cold morning repast. “Nothing but a scandal sheet, I tell you. Get this out of my sight.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.” A footman hurried forward to remove the paper. “May I bring you anything else? Tea, perhaps?”

Tea? No. Roderick did not desire tea. He craved a newspaper that took an interest in reporting true and accurate facts regarding current events, not another gossip rag that took great pleasure in ruining upstanding gentlemen.

Not that Roderick personally knew the Marquis of Camden; however, the Mayfair Confidential had set its sharpened teeth upon him only two months prior.

“Your Grace?” the footman asked once more.

“No, no, Joshua.” Roderick waved his hand in dismissal. “Unfortunately, you cannot provide what I need.” When the servant’s shoulders slumped, he continued. “However, that is no fault of yours, I assure you.”

When Joshua took his place against the wall, Roderick took hold of his utensil and pushed the cold eggs about his plate. If he did not consume at least half the food, Cook would likely chase him down and demand he eat—or else. He’d never discovered what she meant by “or else,” and he damn well didn’t plan to. He speared a sliver of pheasant and placed it into his mouth and then chewed slowly. Perhaps it would appear he’d eaten more if he remained at the table longer. Blast it all, but he was no longer a boy in knee breeches.

He did not need a woman, no matter that she’d known him since birth, following him like a clucking chicken. If Roderick found he was not hungry, then he would not eat.

Period.

End of story.

Until Cook gained word and saw his untouched plate.

With a sigh, he scooped a mouthful of tepid porridge from his bowl and crammed it into his mouth before he could change his mind.

He supposed someone looking after his well-being was appreciated.

For all the headaches the woman caused him, he was grateful to have her.

Joshua yelped in surprise when the sound of the front door slamming, followed by pounding footsteps, approached the Montrose townhouse dining room.

He raised his brow in question as the dining room door slammed against its hinges, revealing his stable hand, Lucian, his clothes disheveled and his cap clutched to his heaving chest. For all his bluster, he stood silently, staring at the floor, waiting for Roderick to address him. This was the same lad Roderick had gotten into trouble with in their youths for leaving tops on the upper-floor landing—causing not one, not two, but three maids injury. And now, he cowered before Roderick as if he would rip the stable hand limb from limb if Lucian spoke out of turn.

“Speak, Lucian,” he finally commanded.

“I have news, Your Grace,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

“And are you worried this news will displease me?” Roderick pushed his onyx hair from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. He needs must make a note to have his valet trim it or procure a stronger pomatum to keep the blasted strands from falling into his face. “Out with it.”

“Your Grace, I…” Lucian started again after taking a deep breath.

“Enough with formalities,” Roderick said, pushing his chair back to stand.

“I think I have finally determined the source of the Mayfair Confidential column.” He dared a glance at Roderick and seeing his pleased expression Lucian continued. “There is a woman. She’s come and gone from the Gazette on five occasions over the last fortnight. She was there in the late-night hours, and while I have not confirmed, I suspect a new column was printed in the London Daily Gazette today.”

“You are correct.” Roderick nodded to Joshua to remove his plate of hardly touched food. “Have you ascertained the woman’s identity?”

A moment of excitement hung in the air.

“No, Your Grace.” Lucian shook his head. “I wanted to make certain you approved of me looking further into the matter. I do know she does not find full-time employment at the paper, nor does she have relatives within the Gazette. I asked about the business, but no one was familiar with her—or they refused to comment.”

“Of course, I want you to investigate further.” Roderick’s command thundered, and once again, standing against the wall, Joshua flinched. “This woman, whoever she may be, is responsible for destroying my life. I will see she pays for her actions.” He needs must calm his anger, especially if he wanted to keep his footman from expiring from fright. “What can you tell me of this woman? Is it possible I am acquainted with her?”

Lucian pulled at his coat as if noting for the first time his ramshackle appearance. “She arrives in a fancy carriage each time, leaving it down the street. She enters the business without so much as a glance over her shoulder. This was why it took me so long to figure her out. If I were the one exposing men of the ton, I would be paranoid and watching my back at every turn. But this woman, her chin is always high, raven hair always perfectly groomed, and her gowns are impeccable, likely made by the finest modiste in London.”

“You suspect she is of noble birth?” Why hadn’t the notion crossed his mind before? Roderick had suspected the culprit to be a jealous lord, not a woman—especially not a lady of class.

“I have little doubt of it, Your Grace.”

“Then you have my permission to look into the woman further; however…” This was not an entirely new venture, sleuthing. He’d been investigating random men and businesses for several years now; though it was imperative that he not draw attention to his activities. “Do not let the woman know we are on to her, or she is likely to vanish.”

“Certainly, Your Grace. I will bring you information as soon as I know anything more.” Lucian bowed and turned to leave.

“And, Lucian.”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Do bathe and get some rest before going back out.”

The servant smiled, wearily. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Roderick glanced back toward the footman pressed against the far wall; he seemed unimpressed and no less anxious by the kindness Roderick had shown Lucian.

No matter, he had many important things to accomplish, far more dire than convincing a new servant he was not the beast he appeared to be despite his jet-black hair, severe jawline, and penetrating ice-blue eyes. He only knew these terms for a gentleman’s appearance because Lady Daphne was always going on and on about his dashingly handsome face.

His gut twisted at the thought of the young woman, so innocent and shy. It would have been a pleasure to take her as wife and make her the Duchess of Montrose. Yet, that had been another thing stripped from him by the Mayfair Confidential. What his father’s dastardly friends hadn’t stolen from him, the person who’d published the damning column in the London Daily Gazette had.

He could remember every scandalous word:

Lady Daphne’s father had decided to do just that: secure another eligible lord for her to take as husband.

Roderick had been so hell-bent on finding out the truth of his family’s missing fortune, he hadn’t even thought about the repercussions of being seen in public with another woman. At first, he’d pondered the idea that the Mayfair Confidential writer had actually done him a glorious favor. He hadn’t loved Daphne. She was sweet, innocent, and beautifully angelic even with her dark locks. And with time, he had no doubt an affection would have grown between them, despite the girl’s lack of passion for anything of substance.

Bloody hell. His fury over the situation returned whenever he thought of it; his pulse beating erratically, and his blood hammering through him.

There was no more Lady Daphne in his future. And with her gone, so was the dowry he’d counted on to restore at least a portion of his family’s coffers. Admittedly, it was much less than he needed to secure the Montrose line and keep it from ruin, but it would have bought him enough time to find the men responsible for swindling his father out of every coin not nailed down.

He should be donning riding garb and Hessians for an afternoon at Hyde or Regent’s Park to socialize and search for a new bride. If he had half the sense he claimed to have, Roderick would be doing just that. Unfortunately, he’d inherited more than just his midnight looks from his father. Apparently, he’d also gained his lack of wisdom.

The time would come to begin his search anew for a wife, but that wasn’t now. Perhaps he’d look through the few invitations that had arrived over the last few days and select a few social gatherings to attend. Maybe a ball or a recital.

At the moment, Roderick needed something to ease his fury and cool his heated blood. That was something a ride in Hyde Park could not do.

However, he knew the exact place it was acceptable to thrash another—and it was called sport.