Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

F rances looked out over the passing townhouses and tried to take a deep breath. Tried being the operative word. The stays of her corset were snug against her shift and left little room for air to actually get into her lungs to feed her brain.

"Stop fidgeting, Frances. It's unbecoming," her father chided.

"So is passing out in front of your peers." Frances twisted in her seat, hoping to dislodge a wayward stay that decided to break free from its guard and jab her in the ribs.

"Blast these stays," she said while digging her fingers into her waistline, hoping to find some wiggle room.

"Careful of your words, child. We can't have the Lady Staunton hear such talk." Her father sat up and fumbled with his pocket.

With a knowing smile, Frances reached into her reticule and pulled out a handkerchief.

"Ah, thank you, my dear," her father said while wiping his glasses, one of his tells that he was nervous about something.

"Come now, Papa , you know I would never speak like that in polite company."

Polite being another functional word. There was nothing remotely polite about the majority of people they were about to dine with. Thankfully for Frances, her dear and newly married friend, Nora, would be in attendance and would give her some reprieve from the judging eyes of the ladies of the ton.

At five and twenty, Frances was practically a pariah and the subject of much gossip. Not that Frances minded. She knew her prospects dwindled with each passing season, and because she was a hopeless romantic at heart, she couldn't bring herself to take the first hand that was offered.

Her father taught her better than that. "Never take the first offer, Frances," he would lecture her as she grew up. Ever the shrewd businessman, most of her father's lessons came in the form of business tactics.

Unfortunately for Frances, that meant being at the older end of the marriage mart without any real prospects in the vicinity.

The Baron snorted. "Polite company, eh? What am I then?"

Frances' smile grew. She reached across the carriage and grabbed his hand. "The most prestigious and dashing lord in all the land," she said with a wink.

"Cheeky." Lord Lounton sat up and smoothed out his greater coat.

"But Frances, I've been meaning to talk to you."

Frances worried her bottom lip. Her father has been starting a lot of their conversations with this phrase lately, and they hadn't been the most uplifting of talks.

"There's going to be someone new at dinner tonight." He placed his glasses back on his nose before quickly removing them to clean them once again.

"Oh?" she murmured with a tilt of her head. No one new had been invited to Lady Staunton's since Lord Dashel married his daughter's governess three years ago. It had been the talk of the ton for months, and definitely made for some interesting dinner conversations.

"I see your mind working, child, but you must listen to me."

Frances balked at her father's words.

"Whatever do you mean by that?"

Her father sat taller and ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. In this light, Frances could almost make out the features of a younger Solomon Ambrose, the Baron of Lounton, one with the business world at his fingertips and the love of his life by his side. But with a jolt of the carriage, the mirage escaped her, and she once again saw the tired man fighting to keep his finances afloat while trying to manage his quick-witted yet dutiful, daughter.

"Frances," he said with a knowing look, "you have a tendency to talk too much and befriend even the poorest of characters. And this Duke Pilton is not someone I wish my only child to entertain," he pleaded.

"The Duke of Pilton? I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting a Duke Pilton in our recent outings."

"And nor will you now," her father quipped. "Listen carefully, Frances. I'm as serious as I've ever been. We are almost to Lady Staunton's, and I want to make sure you stay away from Duke Pilton."

Frances sat back and stared at her father. His normally bright blue eyes were darker, and the lines above his brow became more prominent.

"I'm not sure I understand. If he is a Duke, shouldn't I at least be trying to catch his attention, since…" Her eyes dropped to her hands in her lap. Frances didn't know how to continue. She knew her father's pride, and talking about financial hardships was untoward even amongst relations.

"Yes, yes, yes, normally, yes. I would love to see a prospect such as a Duke take an interest in you. However, for the sake of your, uh, delicate nature, I implore you to keep your distance from this particular Duke. I hear he is an absolutely ruthless rake who thinks very little of his fellow man. There even a rumor floating around he would sabotage his competition in order to get ahead. I would hate to think how he would treat a proper lady such as yourself."

Frances' snort was perfectly timed with her father's concern over her delicate nature. She may have been raised the way a proper lady should have, but she was far from delicate.

"Frances," her father's words snapped her from a particular scandalous memory involving her now maid, Dorothy, and a young groomsman playing a riveting game of Buffy Gruffy. A smile tugged on her lips when she remembered Dorothy's wide eyes when the groomsman asked for a kiss when she couldn't correctly identify the occupant in the chair.

"Are you listening?" Her father's voice was now rushed. The carriage jerked to a stop — they must be at Lady Staunton's summer home. "It's not just me, my child, but the ton . Everyone has been talking, and I will not have you caught up in any more talk. This family has had enough heartache; I will not see you associating with such a brute as well."

Frances took a deep breath which, thanks to her stays, was more like a slight hiccup of air. "I think I can handle the ton , Father," she said with a shake of her wrist. "How is it that I've never met this Duke? I don't remember hearing any gossip about a long-lost son."

"Not much is known which, I admit, is part of the problem. The peerage practically froths at the mouth for a mysterious duke. What I do know is he inherited the title from a distant relative with no kin. He ran a shop of some sort, and the Duke in question is known to be a ruthless businessman."

Frances gathered her skirts and did her best to school her features. She couldn't help but be a bit interested in this mysterious duke. She always loved meeting new people, the more mysterious the better. Digging into what made people behave the way they did was always an interest of hers.

"Frances, I mean it. This is not some lost puppy you can rehabilitate and groom into a hunting dog like you tried to do with that poor Pomeranian — who, by the way, was not meant to be a foxhound. You almost got the scoundrel trampled to death."

Frances' attention turned to the coachman opening the door. "Come now, Father, that little pup had more to offer than being someone's lap dog. Don't you remember, it caught that rabbit that was eating all the flowers in the garden?"

"And he brought it into my bed!"

Frances couldn't help but laugh at the memory. Solomon stepped from the carriage and offered his daughter his hand.

"I'm serious, Frances. I don't like what I'm hearing about him, and I don't have time to go into more detail with you now, so please, just give your poor, decrepit father a break, and listen to me?"

Frances regarded her father's hand. "Oh, all right. I'll keep my distance, but I make no promises if he approaches me. After all, it would be rude of me to ignore an introduction to a duke."

Her father and she were ushered through the main hallway and then into the drawing room where she was whisked away in a flurry of feathers, fans, and giggles in the form of her friend, Nora.

"Oh, thank goodness, you're finally here. I've been dying to talk to you about the new duke." Nora rushed Frances to the corner of the drawing room, without giving Frances a chance to excuse herself. However, looking back, her father was already deep in conversation with Sir Bradley of Loughlin, a business partner. Knowing her father, he was now lost to her until it was time to depart. Once Solomon started talking business, it would take an act of divine intervention to steal him away.

Frances poured herself a small cup of punch from the cart nearby. It was always watered down, but after the insufferable carriage ride, it felt nice to be able to move her arms without a stay stabbing into her side.

"So, have you heard?" Nora was practically squealing. "I hear his family lost everything in a fire, and he ran into the fire to save his younger sister," Nora swooned. "They say he carried her out like a Greek hero from those plays my mother used to drag me to."

It took everything in Frances' power not to roll her eyes at her dear friend. While Frances was known to be a romantic, she could admit, she wasn't as fanatical about it as Nora.

"Careful, Nora, you're practically drooling. I don't think your husband would appreciate you fancying the new Duke."

Nora looked over to where her husband stood in a group of men, patting each other on the back and engaging in conversation. "No, I suppose not. And I'm not drooling, I am very much enamored and satisfied by my husband. There is no truer match for me quite honestly."

Nora's face was the epitome of wedded bliss. Frances began to wonder if she would ever feel that way.

"Do I need to give you a moment to compose yourself, Honora?" Frances asked, using her friend's Christian name, knowing Nora's distaste for it.

Nora nudged Frances in her aching ribs. "Oh, hush," she giggled. "Back to the subject at hand, we were talking about the Duke. Have you heard anything?"

Frances shook her head. "I know nothing about this newfound Duke, but from what I've been told, he is not someone I should be associated with."

Nora's eyes widened, and Frances realized her mistake. Nora could be like a bloodhound, and any form of gossip was her prey.

Her fan flew in front of her face as her voice dipped into a whisper, "What have you heard?"

For the first time that day, Frances took a much-appreciated deep breath, feeling her shoulders relax. They may no longer be the young girls chasing each other around their parents' drawing rooms, but there was something about being in the company of a good friend that made being around pretentious and gossipy peers manageable.

Placing her cup back down onto the cart, Frances opened her mouth to respond when a very unladylike squeak escaped Nora's lips. Frances followed Nora's line of sight and unfortunately could no longer blame the jabbing of her stays for her lack of breath.

This must be the new Duke of Pilton.

To say he was standing in the doorway would be a grave understatement. He seemed to take up the entire space. The room felt as if it was pushed into a vacuum where nothing moved, and there was no sound, no air. Everything was still. When the man moved, only eyes followed him. He didn't just walk into the room, he commanded it. It was as if this were his home, and they were all pieces he could move around as he wished. Frances couldn't look away. Never before had she seen such a force enter a room and overwhelm all of her senses at once.

Her eyes tried to take every nuance of his gait: the way his coat moved against his tall frame, how his long legs carried him further into the room in just a few steps. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch the dark hair that fell just over his collar, brushing the errant piece that dared to flop onto his forehead. She chanced movement and balled her hands into tight fists at her sides so as not to embarrass herself.

Goodness. What is coming over me?

Frances drank in his sun-kissed tanned skin that looked as if he spent the day riding horseback through the fields. The audacity of her thoughts brought her back to her senses.

Frances could feel her cheeks heat and quickly turned. She was standing there like she'd never seen a man before. Granted, she'd never seen one like this before. She's been around countless men of various stations in her life, and she'd never once envisioned them riding a horse… bareback, wind flowing through his hai?—

Stop it! She chided herself. Heavens, it was as if she was some young chit in her first season.

The Duke in question made his way further into the room, and Frances allowed herself one more cursory glance. There was a small woman at his heels, who couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen. Based on her complexion, she must be the younger sister Nora mentioned. She had the same tanned skin and dark hair. While her brother looked as if he ran his fingers through it several times before entering, hers was neatly styled in curls that framed her round face.

"Is that the sister?" Frances asked, dipping her head in the girl's direction.

Nora nodded. "Jenny. I met her at a luncheon yesterday. She seems nice but very shy. I didn't get much out of her; poor thing looked as if she was afraid to touch anything."

"Would you introduce me?" Frances went to grab Nora's hand, but her motion was halted by a feeling of being watched.

She looked back at the girl but instead of finding the wide-eyed timidness of the young woman, she was met with a broad chest clothed in a stark white shirt and a cravat. Her eyes drifted up and found darkened green pools staring right back at her. Once again, Frances could feel her cheeks heat and cursed her fair complexion for giving away any sense of decorum.

There was a small part of Frances' brain telling her she should be offended by the level of brute force this unknown man was projecting over her. She should be marching right up to those eyes and demanding what their problem was, not caring if they belonged to a duke, polite society be damned.

However, there was something in those eyes that Frances locked onto. His eyes zeroed in on her, and she felt caught in his snare, like the rabbit in the jaws of her dog. Something told her she should not move or breathe without his approval. Her mind was at war with her body. She was always known as a headstrong girl, one to push the envelope of what is socially acceptable for a young woman, but there was something in this man's stare that compelled her to give in to society's rules, no, his rules, and not move. Her body didn't want to move; she wanted his attention, craved his attention. She was afraid the slightest breath would break the connection, however aggressive and unwarranted, and that thought alone kept her rooted in place, staring back at him.

"Good evening, friends and honored guests!" Lady Staunton's voice broke the spell Frances found herself under. She reached down and picked up her cup of punch, thankful for the coolness of the liquid as it poured down her now dry throat. She may have been around a lot of men, but none of them ever affected her this way.

Thankful to get a reprieve from whatever spell the Duke placed on her, she took another sip of the punch.

"Well," Nora asked.

"Well, what?"

"I thought we were going to go introduce you to his sister."

Frances' mind went blank. She did say that. She turned to allow Nora to lead her to the girl, all the while feeling she was about to walk off a cliff.