Roderick sat, not moving, behind his neatly organized, mahogany desk; at times, forgetting to breathe. He’d remained awake all night, pondering his situation and a way out of it—or, as best he could, a way through it. His drumming fingers broke the silence that had descended upon the room sometime that morning after he’d penned the letter to the Marquis of Camden.

Not a person had disrupted him in hours.

Though that did not stop him from jumping to attention at any little noise that penetrated his study door.

He’d informed his butler no one was to cross the threshold of his study until his guest arrived.

The solution to his many problems had been easily achieved, especially after he’d reassessed what actually needed fixing.

First, his financial status. He was low on funds; therefore, could not afford to keep an investigator on retainer. This made it no simple task to track down the men who’d played his father for a fool and left the Montrose estate with barely more than enough coin to keep the servants’ salaries paid and wax for lighting. Yes, the key to rectifying this was far easier to attain than Roderick would have thought before the previous night.

His second problem would unwittingly solve his first. The hellion, Lady Lucianna. She was a woman in need of taming—and Roderick would be the man to offer for her hand. Their match—and her dowry—would not completely solve his financial woes, but it would give him ample funds for an investigator.

His chest tightened at the thought of possessing Lady Lucianna and all her fiery spirit.

No longer would it matter about the article she’d posted in the Gazette bringing scandal upon him. She had stolen his family’s good name and honor with her foolish article, but now, she would correct the problems she’d created in his life.

If Lady Lucianna’s father were as peeved by his wayward daughter as Roderick was, the man would willingly agree to the match. The betrothal agreement would be drafted with all due haste. The banns read as quickly as was allowed. Before long, both Lucianna and her dowry—a sizeable amount no doubt, if the Marquis of Camden’s legendary eye for business deals and cutthroat ventures were to be believed—would belong to him.

The marquis would be gaining a duke for a son-in-law and have Lucianna taken off his hands.

And Roderick would insist that she reform her hellion ways or retire to the country.

Simple.

Now, he need only wait for Camden to arrive.

He glanced at the clock—nearly two in the afternoon. It wouldn’t be long now.

Either the man showed, or he didn’t, and Roderick was back to square one with solving his financial woes. However, if Camden came, all Roderick’s dilemmas could be eradicated by mealtime.

He tilted his chin up and brought his arms up, interlocking his fingers behind his neck to support the weight of his head. All the while, his muscles relaxed, and he breathed easier, certain Camden would come.

He smiled. He hadn’t been filled with an ounce of hope since he left the widow Cavendish the night before the scandal had hit. She’d agreed to meet with him several nights later and hand over the ledger of names, accounts, and bank locations for each gentleman involved in the damning ring of hells. Those lords had convinced his feeble-minded, gambling-and-drink-addicted father to hand over all of his family’s fortune to invest in a new gaming hell in the Rookeries.

Roderick’s grin faded at the memory. His father, the late sixth Duke of Montrose, had thought to settle his own gaming debts and invest in a business venture that would benefit his son—and his son’s sons—for years to come.

He’d been utterly and unceremoniously swindled.

By men he’d likely considered his friends.

Men Roderick had never met nor knew anything of.

It was the main reason Roderick kept to himself. That, and he had no idea who was involved in the charade that now had him offering to wed a woman who he had little in common with, had only seen on two occasions, and who angered him to no end.

Lady Lucianna had thought herself cunning, no doubt. Luring him into the darkened gardens only to assault him and flee.

Little did the woman know Roderick was becoming quite adept at finding people and locating the information he sought. He was not his father, and would not be trifled with, especially by a mere slip of a lady.

Plus, he most likely would have already caught the men responsible for stealing his family’s money if it hadn’t been for Lucianna sticking her nose in his affairs. Or if finding the men were impossible, then he would have wed and used Lady Daphne’s dowry to continue his quest for justice.

He massaged the ache in his neck. Maybe he should have sought his bed—or at least a warm bath and a change of clothes—after sending the missive to the Marquis of Camden. Roderick glanced to his liquor-stocked sideboard, longing for a tumbler to fortify his resolve; however, he needed to keep his wits about him if he were to best the marquis during the betrothal negotiations. His confidence was overly high his guest would not turn down the proposal.

A knock echoed from the foyer, and his grin returned.

Footsteps hurriedly moved to open the front door, and his butler welcomed Roderick’s guest before the pair started in the direction of Roderick’s study.

His butler’s usual shuffle could be heard, followed by the solid, confident steps of Camden—and another, much lighter step. Had Camden brought his wife?

It hadn’t occurred to Roderick that Camden would include anyone else. The match made sense on paper: the daughter of a marquis to wed a duke. Roderick’s grin faded once more, and his jovial mood soured at the notion of convincing Lady Camden of his affection for Lady Lucianna.

* * *

Lucianna glanced around at the gaudy, almost abhorrent foyer as the butler ushered them in. A large monstrosity of a chandelier hung overhead, dripping with dozens of candles. The floor shone as if it were waxed only an hour before. The table at her side was free of dust, and its vase filled with fresh, blue blossoms.

“His Grace is expecting you, my lord.” The butler closed the door behind them, and a footman hurried forward to accept their coats. “Right this way.”

Following her father, Luci moved deeper into the house. She had no idea whose townhouse it was nor why they were there. Hanover Square was an area even more prestigious than Mayfair, the houses far grander with sprawling lawns and extravagant gardens and stable houses. This property seemed a bit less cared for than others on the street, but nonetheless, its station was much loftier than her family home.

“Father?” She set her hand on his sleeve. “Who lives here?”

“You will find out soon enough, child,” he snipped back, halting to take in her emerald gown, neatly pinned hair, and white gloves. “You should be thankful I have brought you along on such a momentous occasion.” His brow furrowed. “As your father, I have every right to handle your future in any way I see fit.”

Her future? She was only attending her first Season after the tragedy of her friend’s death had cut her previous London Season short. As yet, no gentleman had shown any overt interest in her. Not that she planned to wed anytime soon. An honorable man was nearly impossible to find in a sea of scoundrels, rakehells, and rascals. Men drank too much, gambled exceedingly, favored women of the night, or lived day by day, hoping to keep out of debtor’s prison.

Luci had no intention of being forever tied to an unsavory man.

With no suitors to speak of, she could only assume her father meant to sell her to the highest bidder—wealth, and stature—as a business deal.

Not uncommon and certainly not something she’d think was above her father’s ilk. The Marquis of Camden was known for his vicious business dealings and cutthroat practices during venture negotiations. Luci owed him a bit of gratitude as he’d settled large dowries on both her and Candace. Though all that did was bring forth fortune hunters and men who would not give a whit about her once he held her money.

Every speck of common sense within screamed for her to beg her father to reconsider whatever matter had brought them to this house, plead with him to depart and never return.

Luci was helpless, a feeling she’d felt on one other occasion, a time she wished she’d tried harder to convince her friends and the magistrate that there was a villain in their midsts, not a grieving bridegroom. Very similar to the day Tilda had been pushed to her death, Luci was walking into a situation out of her control.

“Do not tarry, Lucianna.” Her father glanced over his shoulder at her. “When a meeting time is set, it is highly improper to be late, especially with the significance of today.”

The man’s foul demeanor from that morning had vanished, replaced by a man who knew his worth and position. Confidence and arrogance dripped from his every word. The set of his shoulders was one of haughtiness. His easy manner told Lucianna that whatever awaited them in this home, her father was certain he held the upper hand.

And that terrified Luci.

No matter how much she despised her father, as the head of the Camden household, he was her master; just as he commanded and demanded respect from his servants, so were Luci and her siblings to follow his every edict.

She only need look to her mother to see the consequences if she ever actively sought to refuse her father’s orders.

A shiver went through her at the penalties she’d face if the marquis ever learned it was by his own daughter’s hand he had been exposed in the London Daily Gazette.

Luci squared her shoulders and notched her chin high—every ounce the daughter of the Marquis of Camden—as she marched down the hall after her father.

The servant opened a door at the end of the hall and announced their arrival. “Your Grace. The Marquis of Camden and Lady Lucianna to see you.”

“Show them in, Danvers.”

That voice…

Luci froze mid-step, every nerve in her body revolting against moving another inch. If she took another step, she’d enter the room, and her greatest fear would be realized.

“Come, Lucianna,” her father hissed, stepping into the room and leaving her alone in the hall.

She suspected all color had drained from her face as icy tendrils reached toward every limb of her body.

The Duke of Montrose. They were meeting with the one man who more than likely knew all her secrets.

Luci suspected after witnessing Montrose’s anger the night before that he’d stumbled upon her truth. The identity of the person behind the Mayfair Confidential. She hadn’t been able to admit it to Edith or Ophelia that morning, but the fury Montrose had focused on her as he stormed through the garden could only mean he’d discovered she posted the article exposing his disloyalty to Lady Daphne.

The only thing left to do was stall him from telling her father.

Luci stepped into the room, greeted by Montrose’s cocky grin of victory.