Roderick whistled as he stepped through his townhouse door just as the sun was setting on the day. The shock on his butler’s face was evident; however, he was still wholly focused on the nimble beauty that was Lady Lucianna. He’d attended Bentley’s for several years now and had never crossed paths with the woman. Or had he? Would he have known a woman resided under her fencing attire?

Their time together had ended quickly when he’d given his name, as she’d no doubt recognized him from the scandal two months prior, when he’d been falsely accused of being unfaithful to Lady Daphne—his betrothed. But the gossip sheets had gotten it all wrong.

Unfortunately, Lady Lucianna hadn’t given him the time to explain anything. Bloody hell, he wasn’t even certain that was the reason her entire demeanor had changed and she had hurried off.

Blast it all, but he couldn’t resist thinking of her tightly clad legs that had seemingly gone on forever. No skirting with petticoats and underpinnings to hide the muscular curves of her calves or the toned expanses of her thighs.

He shook the image of said thighs wrapped tightly around his waist from his mind as he handed his overcoat to the waiting servant.

He’d thought of her well-trimmed, slender frame—while she’d been plotting her escape.

“Your Grace, Lucian awaits you in your study.” The butler dipped his head and hurried off.

Lucian had returned already?

Roderick had expected the servant to rest and return to the Gazette on the morrow, or by earliest that night.

“Inform him I will see him now.” His words echoed in the empty foyer; his butler having departed for parts unknown. “I suppose I can inform him myself,” he mumbled, starting down the hall toward his study.

The man’s news could only serve to further brighten his day after so many months—nay, years—of desolation caused by his father’s reckless investments, and then that bloody column.

The tides were turning.

They had to at some point, and the closer he came to the study the more hope surged.

Roderick could practically feel the weight being lifted from his shoulders. Not that knowing the identity of the Mayfair Confidential authoress would solve all his financial—and social—problems; however, it would be a start; a way to gain some semblance of control over his life, which had been spinning endlessly out of his control for some time.

He strode into the study, pushing the door closed behind him, and smiled at Lucian. “I hadn’t expected to see you for a few days.”

Lucian stood from his chair before Roderick’s desk, wringing his hat in his hands once again. Roderick needs must remember to explain to the servant that the nervous gesture did not invoke a sense of confidence. If Lucian ever expected to gain employment with Bow Street as a runner, he need hold his head high and meet every man’s eye, regardless of their station and status.

“I have news, Your Grace.” Lucian’s head dipped.

“You have secured her identity?” Roderick still found it hard to believe a woman—a gently bred lady at that—was behind the atrocious column that had stolen his future. Though, after his morning at Bentley’s, Roderick now understood women sometimes exceeded what men thought of them. Their roles not so specifically fitting into the neat square society and generations of teaching had created for them.

“I have, Your Grace.” For the first time since agreeing to take on the assignment, Lucian smiled. He’d successfully completed a task Roderick had assigned to him. “The authoress is none other than Lady Lucianna Constantine, eldest daughter of the Marquis of Camden.”

Roderick felt like he’d been punched in the gut…and pushed off a cliff. The name dispelled any light that had begun to peek through the gloomy haze that had settled over his life.

“Are you certain?” He half expected the servant to laugh, slap him on the back, and jest about the look of horror that’d crossed Roderick’s face before informing him that he’d seen him leave Bentley’s earlier in the day.

However, that was not to happen.

“Yes.” Lucian nodded severely, completely sober. “I sketched the crest on the carriage door a few nights ago and I finally found another servant—in Lord Esquire’s employ—who knew the family name. It did not take long to locate the Camden townhouse in Mayfair, and I saw Lady Lucianna return home at midday.”

The irony of her townhouse location and the name of her column was not lost on Roderick.

“Does the marquis have other children, perchance?”

“Yes, Your Grace, but I have been told they are all still in the schoolroom.”

She’d known all along whom he was at Bentley’s. Her coy, playful manner was all a jest at his expense. The entire time, he’d been mooning over her skill and beauty, she’d known full well he was the man she’d ruined with her fallacious ramblings in the London Daily Gazette.

Breathing deeply, Roderick attempted to suppress his anger.

He’d enjoyed almost an entire day without the need to slam his fist into a wall or throw a door closed until it fell from its hinges.

He’d been a fool to think any weight had been lifted or that his days living under a cloud of scandal were to be dispelled so easily. All so simply vanquished by learning the identity of one alluring, captivating, and utterly enchanting beauty.

The back of his throat soured at the thought.

The woman would pay for the havoc she’d caused in his life.

“Where is she now?” he asked.

“I left her at the Earl of Shaftesbury’s townhouse,” Lucian said. “She arrived in a fine blue gown with her mother. I suspect they will be there until the end of the evening. I asked a coachman, and he said they were gathering for Lady Edith Pelton and Lord Torrington’s betrothal ball.”

“Wonderful,” Roderick seethed. She’d ruined his life, made a fool of him at Bentley’s, and now she planned to spend her evening twirling about a dance floor and drinking spiced sherry? Oh, no. “You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” The servant turned on his heels and stalked from the room, a rare moment of confidence infusing his long stride.

Unfortunately, every ounce of the confidence born and bred into Roderick as the heir to a Dukedom had fled the moment Lucian had uttered Lady Lucianna’s name. He’d scrutinized her with longing not long before—had thought of future matches between them. All impossible now as he’d misjudged her interested in him.

Roderick would not cower. He would not hide his head in shame. He had done nothing wrong by escorting the widow Cavendish to the opera. They were friends—the former Duke of Montrose being close to the widow’s late husband.

Blast it all, but he was a duke…and no mere slip of a debutante would be the cause of his thorough ruination.

Not without severe consequences.

He’d been debating whether to accept an invitation to a soirée or garden party that very morning. It was long past time Roderick donned his ballroom finery—and attended a betrothal celebration…with or without a proper invitation.