London, England

1835

“My dear Hartley!”

George, the Earl of Hartley, laughed aloud and slapped his friend, Viscount Morton, on the back.

“Morton, how good to see you!” he exclaimed, his eyes bright. “I have been looking forward to making your acquaintance again.”

Viscount Morton chuckled, a gleam in his eye. “I know full well why you have been looking forward to returning to London, and it is not my company that has drawn you.”

George attempted to look both shocked and upset, aware that he was failing miserably. “What are you talking about, Morton? I am more than delighted to see you again.”

Lord Morton snorted, rolling his eyes. “You need not pretend, Hartley. You have come to see how many young ladies you can pursue, is that not the case?”

George grinned, unable to hide the truth from his long-time acquaintance. “Indeed, I confess it has been a long, cold winter, and I have been very much looking forward to dancing with some warm bodies again.”

Morton laughed aloud and gestured for the footman to bring them over a drink. “White’s has not been this loud in some time,” he replied with a grin, as the footman offered them both a glass of whisky.

“You have been here over the winter?”

His friend shook his head. “I came for the little Season, but it was rather dull compared to this. Not half as many pretty young ladies and a lot more grimacing mothers and companions.”

George chuckled, sitting back in his seat and letting his heart fill with contentment. “I have missed it, I confess. Of course, there have been the usual responsibilities back at the estate, but they will wait for the time being. I have a very good steward who can take care of most things whilst I am away.”

“And no intention of marrying this time?”

Snorting in derision, George shook his head. “None at all. I still find the idea as repulsive as I did last year. Of course, at some point, I shall need to find a suitable wife, but I am in no particular rush.”

“Your father would not agree,” Morton replied, with a slight smile.

“My father is, most likely, turning in his grave over my behavior,” George replied, with a slight sniff. “Not that I ever really cared.”

He and his father had never been particularly close, not even when George grew to be a young man. There had been all the duties of the estate to learn about, of course, but George had grown to hate spending time with his father, finding him to be a hard and somewhat cruel man. Oftentimes, he had mocked George’s lack of understanding, unable to understand why something he thought to be so simple was so difficult for George to understand. It had been something of a relief when the old man had passed away, leaving only George behind. His mother had died some years ago, in an attempt to produce the ‘spare’, and so, being entirely alone in the world had brought George a measure of freedom he had come to cherish.

He had spent the last few Seasons enjoying himself entirely. There had been many stolen kisses and a great deal of liquor and cards to go with it all. Yes, indeed, the Season was a time when George could simply forget all about his duties to the title and the estate and throw himself into all that society had to offer him. He was more than aware that he had something of a roguish reputation, but found that it did not concern him. He had no intention of marrying any time soon, not when there was so much fun to be had. Mayhap when he was older, then he would choose a younger wife to produce his required children before living their own entirely separate lives.

George was of the opinion that marriage was nothing more than a contract, one which bound two lives together for the rest of their days – although, with more than one property of his own, he was quite sure he would not have to spend a great deal of time with his wife once the children had been born. He relished his freedom, and even when it came time for him to wed, he was certainly not going to let his wife curb that in any way. He would continue to do as he pleased and to live as he pleased, regardless of what his wife thought.

“Well, I have heard that there are quite a few new young ladies due to make their come out this year,” Lord Morton began, interrupting George’s train of thought. “One, in particular.”

“Oh?”

Lord Morton grinned, his eyes darkening just a little. “Indeed. Lady Ellen Newton, daughter to the Earl of Fancot.”

“The Earl of Fancot?” George repeated, a slight frown on his face. “I had thought that the man had been terribly ill.”

“Appears he has recovered,” Lord Morton replied, with a slight shrug. “His daughter is a little late to be making an appearance, of course, but I doubt it will affect her chances of finding a husband if she is as pretty as they say.”

George’s frown slowly faded, replaced with a small smile. “Indeed,” he murmured thoughtfully, looking over at his friend. “A challenge, mayhap?”

Lord Morton snorted, shaking his head. “I doubt she will come anywhere near you, Hartley. She will be well warned to stay away from the likes of you. On top of which, her father is a ruthless man. I have heard that he has taken away the fortune of those who cross him, although I am not quite sure how he has done it. You would be best to stay well away from the lady, Hartley. She is not worth your time.”

“And yet, I am quite sure I will be able to steal one little kiss,” George replied, with a wide smile, a sense of anticipation beginning to swirl through him. “And I do believe I have never been unable to get exactly what I want.”

Lord Morton lifted one eyebrow, a look of surprise etched across his face. “Truly? You truly mean to chase after this lady, even though I have warned you about her father?”

George shrugged, picking up his glass and throwing back the rest of his whisky. “Why not? I have never stood down from a challenge, and should I succeed, then you will pay my White’s tab for me. If I fail to do so by the end of the Season, then I shall pay yours.”

There was a short pause as Lord Morton considered his suggestion. “On your head be it then,” Lord Morton replied darkly, shaking his head. “I would not do such a thing, no matter how beautiful she might be.”

Grinning, George called for another whisky, settling back in his chair. “Ah, but just think of the satisfaction of it!” he exclaimed, as the footman poured them both another measure. “I can hardly wait to see the lady, whatever her name is.”

“Lady Ellen,” Lord Morton replied, a little brusquely. “Do not expect me to stand by you when the earl comes for your head, Hartley. You will find yourself quite alone there.”

George laughed, not put off in the least. “I look forward to standing victorious, Morton,” he said, still chuckling. “And Lady Ellen shall give me her kisses willingly, have no doubt about it. I intend to conquer the lady, regardless of her parentage.”

Lord Morton shook his head, his eyes filled with suspicion. “We shall see, Hartley,” he replied, with a small shake of his head. “We shall see.”