Enjoy an exciting excerpt from
The Duke of Hearts,
out May 2018
Spring 1812
It could have been called a 1797 Club party, thanks to the number of friends Matthew Cornwallis, Duke of Tyndale, had in attendance. Dukes abounded, in seemingly every corner. Once upon a time, he would have enjoyed this moment when they were all together. It had become so rare over the years as his friends grew into their titles, their marriages, their responsibilities. But at present, it was not joy in Matthew’s heart as he watched them from a distance.
It was something far darker, far uglier. Something he did not wish to name. More than half of his friends were here with their wives. They spun around the dancefloor in pairs, eyes locked, hands inappropriately low, laughter echoing, cheeks filling with color thanks to whispered words.
They were all happy. He should have been happy for them. He was. And he wasn’t. Because he was standing on the outside now, looking in on a world he should have joined years ago. Except Angelica had died.
All he was left with were regrets.
Suddenly Robert Smithton, Duke of Roseford, slid up beside him. Wordlessly he handed Matthew a scotch and then lifted his own glass to clink it against Matthew’s.
“To the bachelors,” he said, staring out at the dance floor and their friends. “Those of us left, that is.”
Matthew shut his eyes. There were days when his grief still felt so raw, no matter how many years had passed since the death of his fiancée. Today was one of them, and Robert’s words were like a knife in his heart.
“Sorry,” Robert said softly.
Matthew’s eyes flew open and he stared at his friend. Robert was almost his polar opposite, a man driven by pleasure and nothing more. He didn’t allow deeper emotions, so he never experienced the pain that went with them.
But he was also a brilliant mind, a loyal friend and someone Matthew cared deeply for, regardless of his judgment of Robert’s decisions.
“I must look like hell if you’re apologizing to me,” Matthew croaked out before he took a sip of his drink.
The tension on Robert’s face bled away and he grinned, the rogue in full force at that moment. “I’m apologizing because I’m an ass,” he said. “But you know that. You’re always telling me much the same.”
Matthew drew in a deep breath as the pain faded a fraction. Leave it to Robert to do that. He did appreciate it.
“Well, you’re no more an ass than usual,” he said softly. “So I forgive you this once.”
Robert tipped his head. “Much obliged, Your Grace.”
Matthew sighed as his attention returned to the others. The music had faded now and they were joining up in little clusters, the women comparing gowns and smiling at their husbands. Every once in a while Ewan, Duke of Donburrow, brushed his hand over his wife Charlotte’s swollen pregnant belly, and a shadow of a smile crossed his normally serious face.
“It’s the end of an era,” Robert mused.
Matthew jolted from his own thoughts and nodded. “I suppose it is. They have all found their matches, leaving only a handful of us without such happiness. But it was bound to happen, wasn’t it? We’re of an age to do such things. Someone will be next.”
Robert snorted out a laugh of derision. “It won’t bloody well be me,” he said, and downed his entire drink in one slug.
Matthew laughed with him. “No, my assumption is that you will be last—you enjoy your life too much to surrender it willingly.”
For a brief moment, a shadow crossed Robert’s face. Matthew tilted his head at the sight of it, for it was an expression he’d never seen before on his old friend. Before he could press, Hugh Margolis, Duke of Brighthollow and another of their bachelor friends, approached.
Matthew’s concern shifted. In the past six months, he’d seen a change in Hugh. His hair had grown out, his cheeks were slashed with stubble more often than not. More than that, there was something deeply troubled in his dark gaze. Whenever he was asked about it, he waved the question off.
But tonight some of that trouble seemed faded. He grinned at his friends, back to the light and lively companion he’d always been. He even slung an arm around Robert. “And what are you two talking about so seriously, eh?”
Robert rolled his eyes. “How very romantic our friends have all become. And we were debating who would enter the snare of marriage next.” He winked at Matthew. “And we were discussing how miserable Tyndale is.”
Hugh’s smile fell and his expression gentled. “Are you very miserable, Tyndale?”
Matthew shook his head. It was a funny thing. Once you lost someone, it was like you turned to glass. Everyone else tiptoed around, trying not to upset or break anything. He was growing tired of it, in truth.
“It’s been three years,” he said softly. “I suppose Robert is right that I ought to be over the loss by now and not roaming around like the maudlin hero of a romantic novel.”
Robert shrugged. “In my experience, ladies trip over themselves for a maudlin hero. You must start using it to your advantage.”
Matthew couldn’t picture doing anything of the kind, but he played along for Robert’s sake. “And how do you suggest I do that?”
It was like he’d offered his friend a thousand pounds, Roseford’s eyes lit up so bright. He was practically bouncing as he said, “Let’s get out of this stuffy party and go somewhere fun.”
Hugh shook his head. “I shudder to think what you define as fun, my friend. Where exactly do you mean?”
Robert grinned wider. “The Donville Masquerade.”
Matthew stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. “The sex club,” he said with a shake of his head. God’s teeth, everyone knew about the Donville Masquerade.
Robert drew back. “You limit yourself, my dear old friend. Not just a sex club. There’s drink, gaming and dancing, and yes, I think a night with a comely lady would do each of us good.”
“Christ,” Hugh said with a slight laugh. “You and your appetites.”
Robert wrinkled his brow. “And since when is indulging in pleasure such a terrible appetite? It can’t have been so long since you did the same.”
Hugh shifted. “Well…nine months,” he admitted.
Robert’s eyes went impossibly wide and his mouth twisted in horror. “No. That…can’t be true. Is that even possible? Matthew, tell him that he will turn into a monk if he doesn’t change his ways.”
The two men faced Matthew and now it was his cheeks that filled with color. “I doubt I’m the one to tell him such, considering how long it’s been for me.”
Robert drew back. “Longer than nine months?”
Matthew cleared his throat. “I’m not sure this is a proper topic—”
“Ten months?” Robert pressed. “A year?”
“Honestly, Roseford, you are—”
“More than a year?” Robert nearly recoiled into the crowd.
Matthew let out a long sigh. He knew his bulldog of a friend, and there was no way he’d let this go until he had uncovered the number. “Fine. Three and a half years.”
Robert stared, unspeaking. Even Hugh jerked his face toward Matthew like he’d declared he had decided to take over Spain. Matthew pursed his lips and forced himself to remain impassive beneath their horrified expressions.
“How are you both not…dead?” Robert said. “You are dead, for that sounds like living in a grave.”
“Roseford,” Hugh said, voice heavy with warning.
Robert waved him off. “It’s settled, we’re going to the Donville Masquerade tonight. I have a membership and you two will come as my guests. I shall brook no refusals.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the ballroom, likely to call for his carriage.
Matthew stared at Hugh and found him looking back. Brighthollow shrugged. “He isn’t entirely wrong, you know.”
“Of course he isn’t,” Matthew said. “He never is. Not entirely.”
“We probably both could use a break from our troubles. Nothing says you have to spend an evening with a lightskirt, after all.”
Matthew shifted. He rarely thought about sinful things anymore. Those thoughts had seemed so wrong after Angelica’s death. Eventually he’d just purged them from his mind and become the monk Robert had first accused Hugh of being.
“You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “And I’ll go, if only to keep him from having an apoplexy in the middle of James and Emma’s ballroom.”
They moved to say their goodbyes to their friends, but Hugh caught his arm before they could reach anyone. He tugged Matthew to face him and his expression was serious.
“You aren’t betraying her,” he said softly.
Matthew’s lips parted and he nodded. “I know.”
Except that wasn’t true. What Robert wanted from him felt exactly like a betrayal of the woman he had once loved, the one he’d lost. And that’s why he had no intention of doing it. Not even when surrounded by “temptation” at the wicked Donville Masquerade.