Chapter 1

London, June 1817

Slouched in his favorite armchair, Anthony Gibbs, Duke of Westcliffe, balanced a glass of brandy between his fingers while doing his best to ignore the problem hanging over his head. His good friends, Brody Evans, the Duke of Corwin, and Callum Davis, the Duke of Stratton, kept him company.

Anthony was grateful for it. There was no one else with whom he’d rather share his woes than these two men. They’d grown up together, had attended Eton together, and had even been together when the tragic news of their fathers’ deaths had been delivered. Furthermore, they found themselves in similar straits and were able to relate.

The light from a nearby oil lamp illuminated Anthony’s drink. He peered through the crystal, allowing the amber liquid to fracture his view of the parlor. If only he could sit here forever, snubbing life and the endless duties stacked on his shoulders. If only he could find the answers to his problems in the numerous glasses of brandy he’d been enjoying these past five hours.

If only…

“I need a solution,” he muttered. Lord, he was tired. Perhaps he should tell his friends to go home so he could go find his bed.

“Don’t we all?” Brody asked. He was stretched out on the floor, arms folded behind his head while he stared at the ceiling. His dark blonde hair was as rumpled as his clothes. “Finn’s gambling addiction isn’t helping with my financial predicament.”

Finn was Brody’s younger brother and he was forever getting himself into worse trouble than Brody, which was saying something.

“My concern is for Peter’s future. His education will be costly.” Callum pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what my cousin was thinking when he and his wife made me their son’s guardian.”

“You’re a duke,” Anthony pointed out. “As such, they probably expected you to provide their son with endless possibilities.”

Callum gave an unhappy laugh and went to refill his glass. His black hair was darker than Anthony’s and made him look slightly dangerous in the dim lighting. “The poor boy won’t have any unless I find a way to replenish the coffers. My investments haven’t made the returns I’d hoped for.”

“Neither have mine,” said Brody. “Quite the opposite.”

Anthony could only concur.

The truth was they were all in a terrible bind. Managing estates and securing their futures had not been their priorities when they inherited their titles. Shock and grief had strengthened their bond, but it had also made them reckless. Instead of embracing responsibility, they’d spent the last three years on roguish pursuits. The need to block out the pain of losing their fathers in that terrible accident had led to excessive spending and extreme negligence.

“Keeping up appearances is becoming a chore,” Anthony said. When he’d descended to breakfast that morning, his secretary had handed him an unpleasant stack of bills. Apparently, several shops had chosen to revoke his line of credit and were now demanding immediate payment. “With my sisters’ debuts next season, it’s time for me to stop being so damn irresponsible. I’ve got to do better. For their sakes.”

Hell, even White’s was threatening to cancel all of their memberships, which was why they’d gathered at Anthony’s home for a change. So they wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment of being publicly reminded of their outstanding payments.

If they weren’t careful, their servants would quit and they’d have to cook their own meals.

“What do you have in mind?” Brody asked. He sat up and flung one arm loosely over his bent knee.

Anthony set his glass on the small round table beside his chair. “We’re all in desperate need of incomes. So let’s try to find a solution. There must be some way for us to cover our expenses, some means by which to resolve our financial problems and start making a profit.”

“How?” Callum asked. “As members of the peerage we have limited options. We were our fathers’ heirs and as such, we were never expected to seek employment as barristers, solicitors, or members of the clergy. We have no useful skills.”

“True.” Brody reached for the bottle of wine he’d left on the floor nearby and sighed when he found it empty. A vacant pause followed before he told his friends, “We could marry.”

“What?” Anthony and Callum spoke in unison, their voices equally strained.

Brody shrugged. “You have to admit that it would solve the problem.”

The clock on the fireplace mantel decided to chime at that moment, the sound too reminiscent of wedding bells for Anthony’s liking.

“I for one am not prepared to tie the matrimonial knot just yet,” he said, already regretting the conversation he’d recently had with Viscount Ebberly. It made him feel sick just thinking about it.

“Nothing would compel me to spend the rest of my life shackled to any of the ladies currently available on the marriage mart.” Callum raised his glass in salute and gulped down a decent measure. “Least of all Miss Amanda Starling. Good lord. Can you imagine?”

The comment forced additional queasiness through Anthony’s veins. He didn’t care for Viscount Ebberly’s daughter at all, but during a moment of desperation, he’d still gone to speak with her father. His intention had merely been to discover whether or not Miss Starling might be willing to fill his coffers in exchange for a title. The answer to that had been a resounding yes.

Ebberly had even suggested they meet with his solicitor the very next day, which had caused an entirely different kind of panic to surge through Anthony. Apologizing profusely, he’d attempted to make a hasty retreat, insisting he’d merely been trying to weigh his options. Only to have the viscount suggest that he spend some time getting to know his daughter better. In exchange, she would befriend his sisters and help them prepare for their debuts.

The suggestion proved how shrewd Ebberly was. He’d taken Anthony’s measure and had concluded that such a bargain was too good for him to pass up. Ebberly hadn’t been wrong, but he had severely misjudged Anthony if he believed the arrangement would lead to courtship and marriage.

Intent on helping his sisters while avoiding a life sentence with Miss Starling, Anthony had determined to make sure they were never completely alone. They could perhaps meet for tea at a public venue or walk in the park with others present. But then, much to his relief, nothing more had come of the conversation. He’d not heard from Ebberly since and had permitted himself to dismiss his concerns regarding Miss Starling.

“I’ll admit it’s not ideal,” Brody said, breaking through Anthony’s thoughts, “but a large dowry might be precisely what I need.”

“I disagree. If anyone in your family ought to marry, it should be Finn.” Anthony leaned forward and, resting his forearms on his thighs, met Brody’s gaze. “He’s deliberately making things worse for you, and as such, it makes sense for him to take the fall.”

“Perhaps, but you know as well as I that it will take an impressive title to tempt a father into letting his daughter marry a man without a fortune. Finn is a second son and a renowned scoundrel with little besides his looks to commend him. He’s the exact opposite of what one might consider eligible.”

“True,” Callum muttered. “The only sort of woman who’d wed him is one with scandal attached to her name. And the last of those was snatched up by Baron Hastings last week.”

A moment of silence followed as they proceeded to mourn the poor baron losing his freedom. Sadly, Hastings had been in a similar situation to Anthony and his friends and had chosen to walk the proverbial plank in order to prevent the loss of his properties.

“Unfortunately, I will have to sacrifice myself,” Brody said. “And the two of you may have to do the same if you want what’s best for those who depend upon you.”

Anthony knew this to be true, but the thought still made him shudder. He shook his head. One way or another, he’d have to get out of the mess he’d gotten himself into. “Absolutely not. We’ll find another way.”

“I don’t see how w—”

“Let’s allow ourselves three days to think it over,” he suggested, cutting Callum off. “During that time, we’ll all do our best to come up with an alternate plan.”

“And if we don’t?” Brody asked, his voice weary and much too resigned for Anthony’s liking.

“Then we may have to consider the unspeakable.” Anthony looked at each of his friends. “But I forbid you from doing so until we’re certain there’s no other choice. Agreed?”

When Callum and Brody both nodded, Anthony smiled with every intention of giving them hope. Even though his own had already jumped off the edge of a cliff. Optimism was the only way forward. The alternative would only lead to additional glasses of brandy and unacceptable results.

The trouble was, he decided in the following days, that every idea he came up with required funding. Even trade, which he was not too proud to engage in if it would help him and his friends maintain their independence. But attempting to start a business without collateral would be a giant waste of everyone’s time.

So far, cutting costs and selling off superfluous items seemed the most promising way forward. He’d made an inventory last night of all the belongings he could do without and had been pleasantly surprised by the estimated income they’d fetch. If he could find buyers quickly, the sum might be enough to sustain him and his sisters for the next year, provided they all curbed their spending.

But since this was only a temporary fix, he’d still require a more sustainable source of income.

He sighed as he strolled along Oxford Street, looking for inspiration in all the shop windows. His friends were due to arrive at his townhouse in less than four hours. All he could do was hope one of them had been more imaginative than he.

A futile endeavor, he reflected, his attention drawn by a handsome top hat in a milliner’s window. He dismissed the item and kept on walking, past a cobbler, a winery, and a paper supply shop where he briefly considered ordering a new letterhead.

No. He had to be frugal from now on. Whatever money he had left should be spent only on necessities.

He knit his brow at this thought while some carriages clattered by. An acquaintance of his tipped his hat as they passed each other on the pavement.

A flash of red hair up ahead made him stop so abruptly the man behind him muttered a curse before saying, “The least you could do is step aside.”

“I apologize,” Anthony told him, his gaze fixed upon the approaching woman, just to be sure he wasn’t mistaken.

The man shoved his way past and then the crowd parted, allowing Anthony a glimpse of the woman’s face. It belonged to none other than the one woman he wished to avoid – a woman whose wealth was only surpassed by her ambition – the very same woman whose father he’d been foolish enough to discuss potential wedding plans with. Miss Starling.

With a shudder, he darted down a narrow side street and broke into a run, not stopping until he’d rounded a few more corners. Lord help him, that was close! Panting lightly, he leaned against a wall and closed his eyes briefly. The clamor from Oxford Street had dimmed, giving way to fainter sounds. A cat meowed and a child’s bright laughter drifted toward him. The slow clip-clop of a draught horse echoed from somewhere nearby.

Anthony pushed himself away from the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets. If only he’d listened to his secretary. Mr. Oats had warned him. Repeatedly. But Anthony had dismissed the man’s concerns. He’d been a duke after all, with the world at his feet.

“Young and foolish, that’s what you’ve been,” he told himself with a snort of disgust. “An embarrassment to Papa’s legacy.”

Disheartened, he kept walking, making his way toward his home at Number 2 Berkley Square. A sign up ahead announced the presence of a bakery. After that, came a book shop. Between the Pages was its name.

Anthony stopped to look through the window where an assortment of books, some bound in leather and fabric, had been placed on display. The rest of the books, which remained unbound, were tilted against larger stacks to show off their titles. Frankenstein was among them – a novel Anthony had been avoiding because the subject didn’t appeal.

Next to it, of far greater interest, was Rob Roy. He’d not yet purchased a copy, and though he knew he ought to be saving his money, he couldn’t resist the distraction the book promised.

An older man with thick brown hair streaked with gray exited the shop. He carried a parcel under one arm and was turning back toward the still-open shop door when he spotted Anthony. Abandoning the door, he allowed it to swing shut before touching the brim of his hat. Interest lit up his eyes and he suddenly smiled.

“Good afternoon to you, sir,” he said with good cheer. “Something catch your interest?”

Anthony chuckled. “Possibly. I was considering Rob Roy.”

“An excellent choice. I dare say you won’t find it cheaper anywhere else.” He patted the parcel under his arm. “This shop delivers quality goods, excellent service, and very competitive pricing. If you’ve the time to spare, I recommend taking a closer look.”

“Thank you. I just might do so.”

The man responded with a satisfied nod and took his leave. Anthony watched him go before returning his gaze to the shop window. He laughed softly beneath his breath. What a curious encounter. If what the man had said was true though, the shop did warrant a closer look.

With his mind made up, Anthony pulled open the door and entered. A small bell above the entrance made a delightful tinkling sound to announce his presence. An understated smell of dust and paper greeted him, inviting him into a cozy interior. Several bookcases stood to Anthony’s left and right filling the space, while a small wooden counter stood directly across from the entrance.

There were no other customers present, but the sharp sound of a gasp informed him he wasn’t alone.

“Good afternoon?” He stepped forward and caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. “I’d like to purchase a book.”

A rustling sound followed but still no one appeared. Baffled, he rounded the first bookcase and tilted his head when he spotted what looked like a woman’s body partially concealed behind the books on the next set of shelves. The top of her head was clearly visible, however. As were her shoes.

Anthony smiled and removed a book, creating a gap that allowed him to stare back into the clearest pair of blue eyes he’d ever beheld.