From Duke till Dawn: 2018’s most scandalous Regency read

“What did you do?” He was half-afraid of the answer, because there was always a particular option available to women.

She gave him a wry smile without much humor. “Became a lady’s companion.”

He exhaled.

“Yet you’re here now.” He glanced behind him, at the crowded gaming hell full of men and women drinking and wagering.

She blushed deeper, as though ashamed. “Mr. Hamish needed a woman of gentle birth to keep the people at the tables, and I had no choice but to accept his offer of employment. The last woman who’d retained my services was a bitter, angry widow—a dowager countess. She resented my youth. Accused me of stealing. She planted jewelry in my possessions. I left her employ with a blight on my name and without a character reference. Finding more work as a lady’s companion became impossible.” She spread her hands, an expression of rueful acceptance on her face.

His heart ached with pity. His beautiful, proud Cassandra, brought to this. He couldn’t reproach her for not informing him of her whereabouts or circumstances. Had he been in the same place, he would have acted as she had.

Yet they were here together again. After two years of fruitless searches, and the resulting despair when he couldn’t locate her, providence had seen fit to have them meet again. He didn’t know how or why, only that it was a gift he wouldn’t toss aside.

“Cassandra—”

She glanced worriedly over her shoulder. “I have to get back to work. Mr. Hamish will notice I’m not on the floor, and I cannot afford to lose my position here. And . . . I’m sorry to hear about what happened with Lady Emmeline.”

He grimaced. The news was one-day old and everyone knew, even a woman he hadn’t seen in two years.

But he didn’t want to think of his fruitless wooing of another woman. He took Cassandra’s hand in his. “Don’t go.”

“I can’t stay.” She pressed a quick kiss to his knuckles—to his shock and pleasure—then slipped away, back into the heat and chaos of the gaming hell. He stepped out from the corner, watching her go as though she was the last glint of light in the darkness.

Ellingsworth and Langdon appeared suddenly, flanking him.

“Who was that?” Langdon demanded.

“You never mentioned a blonde,” Ellingsworth accused at the same time.

Alex cleared his rusted throat. “That’s a story I won’t be sharing.”

His two friends exchanged glances. Ellingsworth had, despite his vocal disavowals to the contrary, done very well at university. His mind was nimble, perhaps overly so. “The unknown lady.”

“What of her?” Alex snapped.

“Lady Emmeline was never truly your goal,” he deduced. “You courted her, yes, but it was she who held pride of place in your heart.”

“Ellingsworth—” Alex said warningly.

Yet his friend wouldn’t be scared off. “The wooing of Lady Emmeline was merely a way to overcome heartbreak.”

“Stop reading your nieces’ sentimental novels,” Alex muttered, but he couldn’t outright lie and tell Ellingsworth he was wrong.

“Cheltenham,” Langdon suddenly exclaimed.

Alex jerked in response. “The hell are you talking about,” he growled.

“You’re right,” Ellingsworth said with surprise. “You went away to Cheltenham, and when you came back . . . you’d changed. Turned even more serious—if such a thing was possible. And there was . . .”

“What?” Alex snapped.

“Pain in your eyes.” Ellingsworth looked nearly embarrassed to have noticed this much.

“There wasn’t,” Alex said lowly, but his friends were too perceptive. He grabbed a drink from a passing servant, and his friends did the same. Alex threw back his wine, but Langdon and Ellingsworth sipped at theirs.

Ellingsworth continued, “It was her. The blonde. She had to have been at Cheltenham, too. You weren’t yourself when you returned. Shoulder had healed but you’d been wounded another way. Took months before you came out of that cloud—and when you did, you started looking for a bride. Lady Emmeline. A girl to fill the gap left by the Cheltenham blonde.”

“Enough of your fancies,” Alex muttered, but there was no denying how close his friends were to the truth. He tipped his glass back for more wine, but it was empty. Moodily, he set it on another passing servant’s tray.

“Oh ho,” Langdon crowed. “A crack in the ducal defenses.”

Alex scowled, glancing away.

Langdon and Ellingsworth shared another look, this one fraught with unspoken words.

“Let Ellingsworth and me take you somewhere else,” Langdon urged. “There’s a fine tavern in Leicester Square that hosts knife-throwing tournaments. Plenty of pretty wenches to turn a man’s head, too.”

“No,” Alex said at once. “I’m in no humor for wenches or knives or anything else.” He craned his neck, looking once more for Cassandra.

A thrill of panic juddered along his spine. Had she disappeared again? No—she was by one of the windows, smiling and talking with a gentleman and two ladies. The vise of his fear loosened. He took an instinctive step toward her.

“Don’t blame you,” Langdon said, keeping pace beside him. “She’s a striking woman. Got a queenly aura about her.”

Alex wheeled to face Langdon. “She’s not to be leered at.”

Langdon’s brow raised as he held up his hands in surrender. “Not a glance. Not a peek in her direction.”

“Why don’t you go to her?” Ellingsworth asked quietly.

Alex felt his jaw harden. “It would jeopardize her employment here.”

“She works here?” Langdon exclaimed.

In response, Alex glared at his friend. He knew he was being churlish to Langdon and Ellingsworth, but there wasn’t a damn thing about this situation that he liked.

Ellingsworth placed his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Come on, old man. Let’s get you home. Nothing good will come of lingering.”

A swell of gratitude built in Alex’s chest. His friends were impetuous and pleasure seeking. Ellingsworth continually made gibes and jests, and Langdon was always in search of gratification. Yet they clearly wanted to protect him from himself.

He nodded stiffly, then turned and headed toward the exit. It took every ounce of his self-possession to keep from looking back. Toward Cassandra.

From her vantage near the windows, Cassandra Blake watched the duke’s wide shoulders as he left the gaming hell with his friends. His posture was just as upright and proud as ever—a duke down to his very marrow, despite the shock he’d had tonight.

She moved through the crowd, nodding, smiling, urging people to play. Yet her thoughts were leagues away.

Alex wasn’t the only one who had been stunned by the night’s developments. Coming back to London, she’d braced herself for the possibility that she might, just might, see him again. Excitement and dread had fought within her, like two cats scrapping in an alley.

Please let me see him, she’d think when falling asleep each dawn. Please, let our paths never cross, she’d think as she traversed London’s streets.