London,
England
1817
A woman
laughed, and Alexander Lewis, Duke of Greyland felt the sound like a gunshot to
his chest.
It
was a very pleasant laugh, low and musical rather than shrill and forced, yet
it sounded like The Lost Queen’s laugh. Alex could not resist the urge to
glance over his shoulder as he left the Eagle chophouse. He’d fancifully taken
to calling her The Lost Queen, though she was most assuredly a mortal woman.
Had she somehow appeared on a busy London street at dusk? The last time he’d
seen her had been two years ago, in the spa town of Cheltenham, in his bed,
asleep and naked.
The
owner of the laugh turned out to be a completely different woman—brunette
rather than blonde, petite and round rather than lithe and willowy. She caught
Alex staring and raised her eyebrows. He bowed gravely in response, then
continued toward the curb.
Night
came on in indigo waves, but the shops spilled golden light in radiant patches
onto the street.
The
hardworking citizens of London continued to toil as the upper echelons began
their evening revelries. Crowds thronged the sidewalk, while wagons, carriages,
and people on horseback crammed the streets. A handful of pedestrians
recognized Alex and politely curtsied or tipped their hats, murmuring, “Good
evening, Your Grace.” Though he was in no mood for politeness, responsibility
and virtue were his constant companions—had been his whole life—and so rather
than snapping, “Go to the devil, damn you!” he merely nodded in greeting.
He’d
done his duty. He’d been seen in public, rather than disappearing into the
cavernous chambers of his Mayfair mansion, where he could lick his wounds in
peace.
The
trouble with being a duke was that he always had to do his duty. “You
are the pinnacle of British Society,” his father had often said to him. “The
world looks to you for guidance. So you must lead by example. Be their
True North.”
This
evening, before dining, Alex had taken a very conspicuous turn up and down Bond
Street, making certain that he was seen by many consequential—and loose-lipped—
figures in the ton. Word would soon spread that the Duke of Greyland was
not holed up, sulking in seclusion. His honor as one of Society’s bulwarks
would not be felled by something as insignificant as his failed marriage suit
to Lady Emmeline Birks. The Dukes of Greyland had stood strong against
Roundheads, Jacobites, and countless other threats against Britain. One girl
barely out of the schoolroom could hardly damage Alex’s ducal armor.
But
that armor had been dented by The Lost Queen. Far deeper than he would have
expected.
Standing
on the curb, he signaled for his carriage, which pulled out of the mews. He
tugged on his spotless gloves as he waited and adjusted the brim of his black
beaver hat to make certain it sat properly on his head. “Always maintain a
faultless appearance,” his father had reminded him again and again. “The
slightest bit of disorder in your dress can lead to rampant speculation about
the stability of your affairs. This, we cannot tolerate. The nation demands
nothing less than perfection.”
Alex’s
father had been dead for ten years, but that didn’t keep the serious, sober
man’s voice from his mind. It was part of him now—his role as one of the most
powerful men in England and the responsibilities that role carried with it. Not
once did he ever let frivolities distract him from his duties.
Except
for one time . . .
Forcing
the thought from his mind, Alex looked impatiently for his carriage. Just as
the vehicle pulled up, however, two men appeared and grabbed his arms on each
side.
Alex
stiffened—he did not care for being touched without giving someone express
permission to do so. People on the street also did not normally seize each
other. Was it a robbery? A kidnapping attempt? His hands curled instinctively
into fists, ready to give his accosters a beating.
“What’s
this?” one of the younger men exclaimed with mock horror. “Have I grabbed hold
of a thundercloud?”
“Don’t
know about you,” the other man said drily, “but I seem to have attached myself
to an enormous bar of iron. How else to explain its inflexibility?” He tried to
shake Alex, to little avail. When he wanted to be, Alex was absolutely
immovable.
Alex’s
fingers loosened. He tugged his arms free and growled, “That’s enough, you
donkeys.”
Thomas
Powell, the Earl of Langdon and heir to the Duke of Northfield, grinned, a
flash of white in his slightly unshaven face. “Come now, Greyland,” he chided.
A hint of an Irish accent made his voice musical, evidence of Langdon’s early
years spent in his mother’s native County Kerry. “Is that any way to speak to
your oldest and dearest friends?”
“I’ll
let you know when they get here.” Alex scowled at Langdon, then at Christopher
Ellingsworth, who only smirked in response.
Alex
took a step toward his carriage, but Ellingsworth deftly moved to block his
path, displaying the speed and skill that had served him well when he’d fought
on the Peninsula.
“Where
are you running off to with such indecorous haste?” Ellingsworth pressed. He
held up a finger. “Ah, never tell me. You’re running back to the shelter of
your Mayfair cave, to growl and brood like some big black bear in a cravat.”
“You know nothing,” Alex returned,
despite the fact that Ellingsworth had outlined his exact plans for the rest of
the night.
Ellingsworth looked at Langdon with
exaggerated pity. “Poor chap. The young Lady Emmeline has utterly shattered his
heart.”
Alex shouldered past Ellingsworth,
only to have Langdon move to stand in his way.
“My heart is not shattered because
of Lady Emmeline,” Alex snapped. At least that much was the truth.
“But why shouldn’t your heart be
strewn in pieces throughout Regent’s Park?” Langdon mused. “You courted the
young lady for several months, and you told Ellingsworth and I that you’d
already received her father’s grateful acceptance of a marriage offer.”
“She never agreed to anything,” Alex
said flatly.
“A modest girl, that Lady Emmeline.”
Ellingsworth nodded with approval. “She wouldn’t have said yes right away. They
never do. Nothing to be alarmed by.”
“How would you know?” Alex’s voice
was edged. Ellingsworth had little experience with offering for ladies’ hands,
committed as he was to a life of reckless pleasure.
Langdon added, “It’d be unseemly for
an earl’s daughter to eagerly snap up a marriage proposal the moment it was
offered.”
Alex scowled. Despite the fact that,
at thirty-eight, he was sixteen years her senior, they would suit well as a
wedded couple. Lady Emmeline had been perfectly trained in the responsibilities
of an aristocratic wife. Though he wished she stated her own opinion rather
than constantly agreeing with him, there were worse faults one could find in a
prospective bride.
They could marry at Christmas, eight
months from now. It would be a small but elegant wedding, followed by a lavish
breakfast and a wedding journey in the Lake District. And then, if everything
went well, in less than a year, Alex and Lady Emmeline might welcome their
first child—hopefully a boy so the line would be secure. It would’ve been
precisely the sort of match Alex’s
father
would have approved, considering Lady Emmeline’s faultless background and her
spotless reputation.
“Look at him now, mooning away,”
Langdon sighed, smugly thwarting Alex’s attempts to step around him. “He looks
poorly.”
It would be bad form to knock his
friend to the ground. Damn the social niceties that dictated a man couldn’t
punch another without repercussions.
“Perhaps he should be bled,”
Ellingsworth suggested with his habitual smirk. It was his constant companion
since returning from the War, as if he refused to take anything seriously.
“I am perfectly well.” Alex looked
back and forth between these two rogues whom he called friends. “No need to
call for a quack.”
“He’s already had an amputation,”
Langdon noted, raising a brow as he always did. “One prospective bride—gone.”
He made a sawing motion at his ankle, as if cutting the shackles of matrimony.
Alex
glanced down at his own lower leg, as if he could see the invisible links that
might have bound him to Lady Emmeline. He’d come so close to becoming a married
man and sharing the rest of his life with one woman—the faultless duke his
father had bred him to be. It hardly mattered that Alex felt nothing for the
gel other than a sense of distant respect. She would have made a fine duchess.
“We
were at White’s yesterday when we heard about what happened,” Langdon said with
disapproval. “Didn’t even tell your two closest friends that Lady Emmeline had
run off with a cavalry officer. No, we had to hear it from Lord Ruthven, of all
people.”
Tasty Q&A with Eva
Leigh
Describe yourself in five words or
less.
Feminist who
believes in HEA.
Can you tell us a little about your
book?
Alexander
Lewis, the Duke of Greyland, met a beautiful, destitute widow and lost his
heart to her—but she disappeared. Two years later, the duke finds Cassandra
again as she manages a gaming hell. Alex is prepared to offer Cassandra
everything, even his name, until he discovers a gut-wrenching truth. Cassandra
is not a genteel widow. She’s a confidence artist, targeting aristocratic men
with her swindles. Heartbroken and furious, Alex wants nothing to do with her.
Fate steps in when Cassandra’s business partner vanishes with the profits from
the gaming hell, leaving Cassandra at the mercy of dangerous people. In desperation,
Cassandra turns to Alex for help. Delving into London’s underworld, they form
an uneasy partnership as they track down her partner. Yet the passion they’d
shared two years ago is nothing compared to their desire now. Can Alex protect
himself, or will Cassandra once again steal his heart?
How did you come up with the concept
and the characters for the story?
As
with my Wicked Quills of London series, I enjoy having characters that aren’t
necessarily part of Regency High Society. I’m fascinated by confidence
artists—their methods, their motivations—and thought it would be exciting to
see what would happen when England’s most morally upright duke falls for a
morally ambiguous woman.
What did you enjoy most about writing
this book?
Exploring
the other, shadier side of Regency London was a lot of fun. That time period is
so rich with possibility, with so many people of many different walks of life
all living in one place. I also really enjoyed having Alex learn to lighten up
a little and free his wild side. Nothing like a buttoned-up guy who loosens the
reins of his control. (It turns out Alex likes talking dirty!)
What do you like to do when you aren't
writing?
Baking is
one of my favorite things to do, because, unlike writing, you finish with a
tangible result. Plus, you make something delicious. I read, of course, and
spend too much time on the internet. When I’m feeling industrious, I crochet
little soft toys called amigurumi and give them to friends.
A la
Twitter style, please describe your book in 140 characters or less.
Uptight
duke. Beautiful con artist. Trouble and sexytimes ahead.
Tell us all about your
main characters—who are they? What makes them tick? Most importantly, what one
thing would they need to have with them if stranded on a desert isle? ;)
Alex has been
born and bred to be a duke. Everything he does falls within a strict code of
responsibility and honor. He doesn’t fully understand degrees of morality.
Having a brief, passionate affair with Cassandra two years ago was entirely out
of character. Once she comes back into his life, he’s shocked and infuriated to
learn that he was just another mark. He’s ready to write Cassandra off as a
cold, calculating criminal—despite the fact that he still desires her. If Alex
was stranded on a desert island, he’d need his walking stick. He doesn’t have
an injury that requires it, but a walking stick can be a useful took for
building shelters, using to hunt for food, or making it into a sundial. He’s a
no-nonsense, practical guy!
Cassandra
grew up alone on the rough streets of London. She had to learn how to survive
in a brutal world. With no one to take care of her, she turned to crime as a
way to keep from starving. Her life changed when she met a man who taught her
the art of pretending to be a gentlewoman while swindling members of the
gentry. Instead of sleeping on filthy hay, now she could rest her head on
feather mattresses, and she had as much as she wanted to eat. She always
thought of aristocrats as targets to be swindled, until she met Alex, who treated
her with dignity and kindness. With Alex, she broke her rule of never sleeping
with a mark, and later fled out of self-preservation. Cassandra is street wise,
self-sufficient, and has learned to view everything with suspicion. Only Alex
sneaks past her defenses. If she was stuck on a desert island, she’d be practical
and take a small knife (which could also be used as a lock pick if she found
buried treasure).
Do you have any advice to give to
aspiring writers?
Find
a way to sit down in front of your computer and just start writing. Even when
you doubt yourself, you have to keep going. It’s trite, but books really don’t
write themselves. And also, enjoy the process of writing simply to write.
Success isn’t a guarantee so we have to love what we do.
Eva Leigh is the pen name of
a RITA® Award-nominated romance author who writes novels chock-full of smart women
and sexy men. She enjoys baking, Tweeting about boots, and listening to music
from the '80s. Eva and her husband live in Southern California.
