Lucas: Cambridge Book 1

Caitlin Drummond, a wallflower on her third season in the marriage mart, dreams of escaping the relentless matchmaking efforts of her stepmother. As the secret apprentice to a progressive physician, she views the eligible bachelors with disdain, knowing the vices they indulge in behind closed doors. When Lucas Cambridge becomes intrigued by her familiar eyes, Caitlin is determined to keep her distance. For if he uncovers the truth of their previous encounter, it could destroy the carefully constructed life she has built for herself.

From the extravagant ballrooms of London to the gritty underbelly of the rookeries, follow Lucas and Caitlin as they navigate their way through a delicate dance of danger, espionage and romance.

Content Warning: Alpha males, reluctant heroines, and frivolous entertainment ahead. Not suitable persons under 18. It contains mature content and mild steam.

If you like your regency historical romance to have action, adventure, suspense, comedy and steam then this book is for you. Fans of Julia Quinn's Bridgerton series, Stephanie Laurens Cynster series, Julie Garwood and Tessa Dare have been known to enjoy this book.

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SAMPLE

Lucas: Cambridge Book 1 © Elina Emerald 2022

Chapter 1

1817 West End, London

Lord Lucas Cambridge, Marquess of Winchester and eldest son of the Duke of Bolton, stood in the drawing room belonging to his latest mistress, Sabine. As she approached, Lucas noticed she was dressed in a sheer silk gown that rustled with her movement.

"Lucas, darling, I've missed you. Why did you abandon me?" Sabine asked with a slight pout.

"I was fighting in a war, Sabine," he replied.

"Have you missed me?" she purred in his ear, rubbing her voluptuous body against him, her mood set to maximize seduction.

Lucas wore his usual indifferent expression because he felt nothing. Setting Sabine away from him, his voice took on a haughty tone. "We need to talk."

Her body stiffened as wariness marred her expression. "I do not want to talk, Lucas. Shall we not find a more pleasant diversion?" Sabine's hands moved lower, her deft fingers untucking the shirt from his trousers.

Lucas wondered how he had been so enamored by her charms when, in the end, she was just another pretty little liar. His suspicions were confirmed earlier that night that Sabine was in breach of their exclusive arrangement in more ways than one, making him glad he never took a lover without a sheath. But if he was honest, he had lost interest weeks ago, and this was the perfect excuse to end their association.

Staring at Sabine, Lucas wondered what he had ever seen in her. Her scent was cloying, her French accent a ruse, and her naïve, innocent demeanor a constructed façade created to empty pockets and lure unsuspecting men to ruin.

Sabine reaffirmed his view that women, whether high-class or baseborn, were vapid gold diggers and never to be trusted. Lucas tried to conjure up some sort of feeling for what he was about to do, but if he was honest, he had none—nothing but a cold, dark, empty cavity inside his chest where a heart should be. He stilled her hands. Sabine frowned, then moved closer, and he felt her abundant curves brush against him.

Still nothing.

Lucas took another step back, holding her at arm's length, his gaze a stern warning. "I have brought you a token," he said. He took the diamond necklace out of his pocket and placed it on the nearby table with a large banknote. Sabine stilled, knowing what such a gift symbolized.

She took a step back. "You're ending this. Why?"

"We agreed we would cease if our arrangement became tiresome."

She flinched at his words. "You do not want Sabine anymore?"

"The arrangement has served its purpose, but I do not consider it prudent to continue. I bid you good evening," he replied. Lucas saw her ire displayed for a mere second before she masked it.

"Is it another woman? Is that why you have neglected me for so long? Have you found a new whore at one of those fancy bordellos?" Sabine demanded, her voice rising with anger.

"That is none of your concern. If you have any further quarrel, you may take it up with my solicitor." He placed a card on the table with an address. "His office is open to receiving callers six days a week."

Sabine cast him an incredulous look. "Is that all you have to say? After everything I've done?"

Lucas remained silent as she changed tack.

"Have you forgotten how well we suit?" Sabine placed his hand on her bosom. "Tell me you have not missed my body?" She ran her fingers along the sides of his arms. "You've been away too long, monsieur, and forgotten how good it is between us, non? Let us retire to my boudoir. I shall remind you."

"You have been seeing others in my absence."

Sabine flinched and tried to deflect. "What nonsense you speak. You are in a strange humor tonight. Let us share some brandy to ease your dark mood. I shall have my girl bring us—"

"Do not touch that cord," Lucas demanded.

Sabine froze, her hand paused in mid-air beside the bell pull. "But... I only want to call for brandy."

"Do not lie to me. You wish to signal your men waiting outside."

Sabine's mouth dropped open in surprise, then turned to fear when Lucas pulled out a pistol from his waistcoat and pointed it at her.

"Move away from there now. The game is up, Sabine. I will not be your next victim."

Her eyes flickered about the room, nervous. Before Lucas could stop her, Sabine screamed.

Lucas sensed movement outside and had mere seconds to react before two armed men barged into the room. Sabine scurried to the far side as one man aimed at Lucas with a pistol and opened fire. Lucas hurled his body behind the settee and returned fire. The man with the gun went down while the other barreled toward Lucas with a cutlass, swiping at him. Lucas dodged the blade but dropped his pistol. His attacker lunged at him again, and a scuffle ensued with both men grappling on the carpet. Lucas overpowered his attacker and dealt a swift uppercut to his jaw, knocking him out.

He had his suspicions confirmed. The rumors were true that Sabine and her associates would threaten extortion if he broke off the arrangement. Never did he imagine they would attempt to murder him as well. Lucas got to his feet and was straightening his clothes, ready to deal with Sabine, when she emerged ranting from the far corner with something in her hands.

"You come here, attack my men, and cast me aside, and you think a trinket will cover it?" she shouted. Without further prompting, Sabine raised the object she was holding, and Lucas realized it was a loaded crossbow. "I decide when things end and the terms. Do you understand me?"

Lucas raised his arms. "Sabine, put that down." He took a step back, not believing she would be so foolish as to shoot a nobleman. He was about to order her to cease her nonsense when he heard the recoil click of the mechanism. Lucas did not wait. He took three paces backward and launched himself out of the open window as he heard the thud of the arrow bolt lodge in the wall. Bloody hell, she actually shot at him! he thought as he landed flat on his back in the garden bed below.

Lucas glanced up to see an enraged Sabine screaming, the crossbow aimed at him again.

"Sabine, don't!" he roared, just as the bolt discharged. He turned too late because he felt a searing pain slice through his shoulder as the bolt lodged deep. "Damn you!" he yelled.

Lucas staggered to his feet and started stumbling in the darkness just as Sabine took aim again. A second arrow whizzed past his head. He ran.

He glanced behind him and noticed she was reloading another when he heard a gunshot blast, and Sabine dropped the crossbow as she had been hit in the arm. Lucas saw the night watchman standing on the lawn with a long-range pistol as Bow Street runners ran into the house to arrest the gang. Thank heavens he had the foresight to arrange reinforcements.

Lucas called out a word of thanks and stumbled forward, cursing as he tried to fight his way through a hedgerow. Feeling that stinging pain in his shoulder, the short arrow protruding out the front with blood seeping into his shirt, Lucas beat a hasty retreat. Imagine surviving the war only to be done in by a disgruntled ex-mistress and her cutthroat gang.

Surviving on adrenaline, Lucas broke off the tail of the bolt and gritted his teeth at the pain. The bolt head was lodged deep, but he brushed it aside. He would see to it later. Lucas pulled out his timekeeper and cursed. Now he was running late for his meeting with his informant, Owen. He could not miss it because opportunities to meet face to face without exposing Owen's cover were rare. Lucas realized he should not have dealt with Sabine on the same night as an important meeting. Trust him to mix personal matters with Crown affairs. He hailed a hackney, clambered inside, and gave an address to the jarvey.

Still resolute that it was merely a flesh wound, Lucas fished into his pocket for a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding. He would kill for a snifter of brandy right now. Fifteen minutes later, he was by the Thames. Lucas remained in the shadows as the pain in his shoulder throbbed. His informant appeared.

"What do you have for me, Owen?" he asked.

"The next rally is Tuesday night, 1 a.m. Dock Street," Owen replied.

"At this meeting, will they produce the documents?" Lucas asked.

"Aye. He's traveling with a guard who watches over the satchel."

Lucas was hit by a dizzy spell. He shook his head to clear it, but now the pain in his shoulder was searing him from the inside out.

Owen said, "Sir, you need a doctor."

"I'm fine," Lucas replied and winced. "Did you discover anything else?"

Owen nodded. "Someone with flush pockets is funding them."

Lucas frowned, taking in this piece of news, then pitched forward and almost stumbled.

"Blimey, sir, you're as sick as a cushion. You're bleeding clean through," Owen said with alarm.

Lucas looked down and realized his coat was drenched with his blood. It had seeped through several layers of clothes.

"I'm fine. I'll see a doctor when I return home."

"But you've lost a lot of blood, sir. There's a doctor, one of the finest. He's only a few doors down from here," Owen replied.

"I do not trust any doctor in this area," Lucas grumbled.

"I promise you. This one is different. Let him take a gander at your wound, then you can take a hackney home."

With another wave of nausea rolling through, Lucas relented. Owen had proven himself trustworthy over the years, so Lucas risked it. Owen gave him the house number, but Lucas insisted he did not need an escort.

***

Dr. James Barry

It was 2 a.m. when Lucas staggered up the doorstep of Dr. James Barry. He lifted the door knocker several times, his arm numb. Though he shook his head to stay focused, he now realized his coat sleeve was drenched all the way to his trousers. He tried to wipe the blood away, but it came back slick and dripping onto his Hessian boots.

"Damn it!" he cursed, realizing for the first time that he was bleeding out.

The door opened, revealing a slight man in a casual linen shirt and trousers, wearing house slippers.

"Dr. James Barry?" Lucas asked.

The man nodded.

"I apologize for the intrusion at this hour, but I—" Lucas suffered a dizzy spell and tried to shake his head to clear it.

"Good Lord, man! You're bleeding!" Dr. Barry immediately grabbed Lucas as he half-swooned and ushered him through the doorway. "What the devil happened to you?"

"Shot with a crossbow by an angry ex-mistress," Lucas rasped, not caring what the good doctor thought of the information. As they entered the dimly lit hallway of the townhouse, Lucas heard footsteps and a commotion at the end of the corridor.

"Dr. Barry? Do you require assistance?" a woman asked.

"Yes, Simpson. We need to get this gentleman into my surgical room."

Lucas glanced up to see a woman in a russet gown striding towards him. She wore a long apron over her dress and a mask that covered her face except for her eyes. Her hair was tucked back under a severe-looking cap.

The woman ducked under his good arm to help him walk. Something about her presence unnerved Lucas, and he did not welcome the emotion.

"Who is this chit?" he demanded in a gruff voice.

"My apprentice," Dr. Barry replied.

"Shouldn't she be in school learning to embroider? What does a woman know of medicine?" Lucas growled.

He noticed the woman's eyes flash with indignation before she said in a low voice with a slight lilt to her accent, "I already know how to embroider. I sew flesh together. I might even embroider my initials into yours."

Lucas felt a rumble in his chest at her response.

"Simpson, be quiet," Dr. Barry said, a subtle warning flashing in his eyes. Lucas caught the exchange.

"I meant no offense," Lucas replied. "I just do not believe women know their way around anything beyond a bedchamber."

"Seeing as you're the one bleeding on Dr. Barry's rug, I doubt you're in any position to judge," she snapped.

"Ha! Touché, Miss Simpson... or is it Mrs.? Is there a Mr. Simpson waiting for your verbal abuse at home?" Lucas chided.

She simply ignored him.

That was a first.

"You seem familiar. Have we met before?" Lucas asked, his breathing labored as another wave of nausea hit him. He smirked when she muttered, "I should hope not!"

Then he blacked out.

***

When Lucas woke, he was delirious and disoriented, trying to make out his location. Wherever it was must be hell on earth because his body was burning. His mouth was dry, and he felt as if someone had run over him with a mail coach. Lucas's heart beat fast as he tried to shake the nightmare that penetrated his sleep. He remembered the war, the screams of his friends as they lay dying, and the overwhelming guilt he felt for surviving.

"Water, please, anyone?" He was exhausted and agitated.

"Shh, my lord. Do not move. You will reopen your wound. All is well." A soothing voice with that soft lilt broke through his panic. Simpson. Lucas recognized her, and he settled. Though his eyes were closed, her presence permeated his soul, and he calmed as she patted his brow with a cool cloth. It sent pure relief through his body. Each time the darkness closed in and the night terrors began, he needed only to focus on Simpson, and the darkness receded.

Lucas wanted to learn everything about her but could not gather his thoughts.

"Who are you?" he rasped.

"I am no one," she replied.

"I think you are an angel," he remarked.

She chuckled. "Drink, it will cool you."

He felt the rim of a cup and cool water at his lips. Lucas drank his fill, half-sitting up as Simpson held him steady. Then he lay back on the bed.

"Thank you," he rasped. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days, my lord."

Lucas heard her moving around the room before she returned with another cool compress for his fevered brow. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, it was Simpson's voice and calming presence that kept his demons at bay.

"The doctor has removed the arrow bolt, but you lost a lot of blood, and you had a slight fever."

He nodded as he started drifting to sleep. But he panicked when he thought she would leave. Lucas reached out and clasped her hand in his. "Please, stay. I need you, Simpson." He opened his eyes and tried to get a better look at her face, but she kept to the shadows. Lucas did not mind. It was enough that he held her hand; that gave him peace. When had he last experienced peace?

"I'll be right here, my lord. Sleep now. All is well. Your brother, Victor, is coming to fetch you today. When you wake again, you will be in your own bed."

With her comforting words, Lucas allowed sleep to consume him as he clasped tight to Simpson's hand. This time the nightmares did not return.

***

Three Weeks Later

Lucas sat in the breakfast room of his Mayfair townhouse with his brothers, Victor and Sebastian. Sebastian shoveled toast and kippers into his mouth like there was no tomorrow while Victor drank coffee and read the scandal sheet. Both brothers had their own townhouses, but Lucas's entire family had a habit of dropping by unannounced and eating all his food.

Lucas had five brothers in total: Victor, Sebastian, Brenton, Miles, and Nicholas. But he was closest in age to Victor and Sebastian.

"Luke, you've made the scandal sheets. There's an on-dit describing a marquess and a disgruntled mistress with a crossbow. Hmmm, I wonder who that could be?" Victor said, taking a sip of his coffee.

Sebastian chuckled and, talking with a mouthful, asked, "Why on earth did you say goodbye to Sabine in person? She is a swindler, I told you."

"I wanted to confirm for myself if the rumors were true."

"Are you hunting for a new mistress then?" Victor asked.

Lucas shook his head and grimaced. "No, I am done with women. If they're not draining your pockets, they're trying to kill you." For a moment, an image flashed before him of a masked woman with a soft lilt to her voice. She was different. But Lucas tamped it down.

"I keep telling you both, amorous wealthy widows are a better choice. They're experienced in bed. There are no husbands waiting to call you out, and it costs far less than keeping a mistress," Sebastian said.

"How practical of you, Seb," Victor muttered sarcastically.

"Well, as a third son, I have to scrimp if I want a regular tupping," Sebastian replied.

Lucas chuckled. Sebastian could always make him laugh. Again, his memory flashed to witty words spoken with a soft brogue. 'I sew flesh together. I might embroider my initials into yours.'

After a pause, Lucas broached the topic. "Are you certain there was no one called Simpson when you fetched me, Vic?"

"I've told you several times, Luke, there was no woman of that description. Only Dr. Barry and a middling man called Watkins," Victor replied.

Lucas frowned. "I swear there was a young woman who helped nurse me."

Victor just shrugged.

Lucas stared out the window, wondering about the woman called Simpson with indignant eyes and a quick wit. He had returned to Dr. Barry's premises several days later to pay him a handsome sum for his services. Lucas could have sent a messenger, but he attended, hoping to see Simpson again. To thank her. But to his disappointment, the staff insisted there was only an elderly housekeeper.

Lucas sighed and let it go. At least for a time. Whoever she was, even if a figment of his imagination, when it mattered most, she had gifted him a sense of peace.

***

Chapter 2

Drummond Household, Oxford Street, London

Caitlin Drummond, eldest daughter of a late peer, paced the threadbare rug of her bedchamber as she scribbled notes in her book, muttering to herself. She wore at least three layers of clothes and a floppy woolen hat that covered her ears. This was how she saved on coal and wood. Caitlin was exhausted after an extensive surgery, assisting Dr. Barry at the docks. Now she paced her room, having done the household accounts that morning. Each time she came up with the same figure that spelled disaster. If her family did not adopt her economizing strategy, they would end up in either debtor's prison or the poorhouse.

Caitlin slumped into an armchair by the window and sighed. Surviving hand to mouth was becoming increasingly difficult, especially when the entire ton was watching. Keeping up appearances was a costly exercise. At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, Caitlin was now approaching her third season on the marriage mart and dreaded every minute. She was already considered a spinsterly old maid, and given the scandal of her first season, it was preposterous to her that her stepmother insisted she throw her hat in for another round.

Caitlin threw her notebook on the table and picked up her cup of tepid, watered-down tea and gulped it, trying to work out more ways to make their meager funds stretch even further. Her saving grace was the regular wage Dr. Barry paid her as his apprentice. It was scandalous what she was doing, but that tidy sum each month was keeping a roof over all their heads.

As Caitlin stared out over their garden courtyard, she thought back to that fateful night three weeks ago when Lucas Cambridge ended up on Dr. Barry's doorstep. Caitlin could not stop thinking about him. She had assisted with the surgery and nursed him through recovery. Even in a fitful sleep, Lucas terrified and fascinated her. She had seen both sides of his nature during their encounter: the powerful, brash, domineering man and the vulnerable patient clasping her hand to ward off nightmares. Caitlin had studied his features as he slept. He was a handsome specimen of sheer virility and masculinity with chiseled features and hardened edges.

His plea of 'I need you, Simpson' played on her mind. Except in her fanciful daydream, she imagined Lucas called her by her real name and not one created for subterfuge.

Simpson was Caitlin's alter ego, created to keep her real identity hidden. Caitlin snorted at the unfairness of not allowing women to become physicians. Even Lucas had dismissed her at their first meeting. Caitlin wondered what it would be like to be seen by a man like Lucas as Caitlin Drummond, a woman with a man's vocation.

She laughed out loud. Impossible. Still, a girl could fantasize about such things. Then she remembered why Lucas was there. His mistress shot him with a crossbow. Her illusion shattered, and Caitlin experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. A man like Lucas Cambridge would destroy her and not even care. He was a raging tempest over a rocky shore. Caitlin dismissed her fanciful notions.

He is a rake, Caitlin Drummond, and don't you forget it!

She sighed and headed downstairs to have a word with her stepmother about overspending.

***

When Caitlin entered the drawing room, she was accosted by the sight of her family in all their chaotic glory. Her stepmother Millicent was exchanging cross words with Alma, their long-suffering general housemaid. Allissa, her twelve-year-old half-sister, was clunking away at the pianoforte, trying to play a tune no one could decipher. Meanwhile, Allissa's pet chicken, Lucinda, was perched on the window ledge snoozing, and Allissa's pet goat, Gertrude, was eating an old bonnet outside the window.

"Caitlin, I cannot express how important it is that you make a good match this season," Millicent said.

"Yes, Mother. But first we need to talk about the accounts," Caitlin replied.

"And it would be preferable if you stopped reading all those weird books and articles," Millicent continued, as if Caitlin had not spoken.

"Why?" Caitlin asked.

"Because it is unseemly for a woman of your advanced age to be reading anatowee texts."

"Anatomy," Caitlin corrected.

Millicent snapped, "That's what I said. You must cease at once. Whoever heard of a woman studying the human body? It is most unchristian."

"But I learn a lot from them."

"What can you learn from those maudlin pages? Will they teach you how to capture the attention of a fine nobleman? No! It is time to put these unnatural pursuits aside."

Caitlin got her back up. "What is unnatural about the human body or the world?"

"Oh, not this again," Millicent sighed.

"What does it matter what material I choose to read?" Caitlin asked.

"It matters because men find it distasteful to have learned wives. It is not normal, Caitlin."

"But I am not normal. I thought we established that a long time ago, Mother."

"Can you at least try to act normal long enough to attract a suitor? Once you're married and they discover your obvious defects, it will be too late to do anything about it."

"Oh, but what will I do with my clod foot and leviathan scales, Mother?" Caitlin asked sarcastically.

Allissa started giggling, and Caitlin winked at her.

"Stop being ridiculous, both of you, you know what I mean," Millicent snapped. "Women with little to recommend themselves cannot afford to read nonsense pamphlets."

"Good Lord, science is not nonsense," Caitlin replied.

"Mother, why can't women read pamphlets? I know Queen Charlotte reads scandal sheets and so do most ladies of the ton. Isn't a book just one very long scandal sheet?" Allissa asked.

"Allissa Drummond! How do you know about scandal sheets?" Millicent scowled.

Allissa blushed with a guilty expression and began clunking away louder at the piano.

Raising her voice to be heard above Allissa's playing, Caitlin said, "I came down here because we need to talk about our funds."

"Our finances will improve once you make a suitable match this season," Millicent remarked.

"And if I don't? What happens then? We need to make changes now."

Millicent huffed and stared out the window, ignoring Caitlin.

"Mother, please listen to me. Until Gareth comes home, we must rein in our spending," Caitlin pleaded.

Millicent flinched at the mention of Gareth. Gareth was Caitlin's half-brother and the heir apparent. He had joined the British Army years ago, leaving a house full of female dependents in a precarious position.

"Caitlin, this is not a good time. I have far more pressing concerns right now," Millicent replied, then shouted at Allissa, "Would you stop making that infernal racket? I am getting a headache!" The pitch of her voice woke up Lucinda, the chicken, who started clucking and carrying on.

"Don't shout at Lucinda!" Allissa yelled.

"I was not shouting at Lucinda. I was shouting at you," her mother replied. At that moment, Gertrude their pet goat came barging into the drawing room and head-butted a side table. Alma, their maid, came running in after Gertrude, and chaos descended once more.

Caitlin sighed and exited the room. There was no way she was getting through to them today.

As she was walking out the door, Millicent yelled, "Remember the London season begins soon. There are several gentlemen I'd like you to meet at Almack's. Your aunt has secured our subscription this year."

Caitlin muttered, "Then I shall be sure to remain well hidden."

***

Cambridge Estate, Hampshire

"Edward! Have you read the latest scandal sheet? Something must be done about our sons," Lady Vincentia Cambridge, Duchess of Bolton, said in exasperated tones before flopping down on the chaise longue. She fanned herself with a brisé folding fan laced with red silk ribbon and painted with tiny peonies.

"Swallow your spleen, darling, or you'll have an apoplexy. It is normal for young men to resist the bonds of matrimony until they've had their fill of being a little wild," her husband, the duke, replied. He was reading the paper in his favorite armchair in their informal drawing room—a place they both liked to spend time together when they did not have ducal duties to attend to. In fact, after thirty years of marriage, they still preferred each other's company above all else. A rarity among ton marriages.

Vincentia sat upright and scowled. "A little? A little? Edward, they are wild to the point of being heathens! And now, with this latest incident of Lucas getting shot, I am mortified. It is reprehensible."

She snapped her fan closed and admonished her husband. "For too long, our sons have been allowed to gallivant about the countryside doing whatever they please. They are the most vexing creatures I've ever encountered. Climbing trees, diving off boulders, racing phaetons and cavorting with"—she flipped open the fan to cover her mouth and whispered—"lightskirts!" This was to ensure her youngest son, fourteen-year-old Nicholas, could not hear.

Nicholas was seated by the far window, engrossed in a book about pirates while convalescing and nursing a broken arm.

Edward sighed, put down the newspaper, and walked over to the tea tray. He cut a slice of cake. This was another rarity within the ton: a duke who served his own tea, quite scandalous.

"It is a terrible predicament indeed," Edward replied. "But here, my love, eat some cake. It's butter cream vanilla sponge, your favorite." He held out a plate to his wife with a smile.

Vincentia's eyes lit up with affection as she accepted the plate. "Thank you, my dear, but you realize I am quite petite, and I have been wasting away with worry." Despite this, Vincentia speared a large piece with her fork, placed it in her mouth, and began chewing.

The duke nodded his head in acknowledgment as he poured himself some tea. His son, Nicholas, paused from reading and frowned in confusion because if anything could be said about his mother, it was this: she was not petite. Nor was she in any danger of wasting away soon.

The duke glared at his youngest and signaled to Nicholas to wipe the look off his face. But it was too late.

"What are you frowning at, Nicholas?" Vincentia demanded as she took another bite.

"Nothing, Mother, I was ah... I was just..."

"Yes? Spit it out. What was that curious expression?"

Nicholas glanced at his father in a panic. Edward glared at Nicholas to proceed with caution.

"Um, I just wanted to say you look rather splendid today. May I have a slice of cake to take outside?"

The duke gave an inaudible sigh of relief as Vincentia's expression softened at Nicholas's compliment. "Well, of course, my dearest boy," Vincentia replied as she beamed at her son.

Nicholas grinned and was treated to a large helping of cake. He gathered his things, gave a brief nod to his parents, and hastily left, knowing that he had averted a crisis. Nicholas had been around his mother enough times to perceive it was dangerous to make any comment about a lady's figure.

After Nicholas left, Vincentia said, "If only all our other sons were as pleasant and obliging as Nicholas." She sighed, putting her empty cake plate back on the tea tray.

The duke was now sitting beside her. "You realize our sons love you. They're still just trying to find their way in the world."

"If only we'd had girls, Edward. I could have hosted afternoon tea and outings to Bond Street together. We would visit the modiste and pick out fabrics for gowns. Finding apparel for boys is so droll, I mean there're just pants and cravats."

The duke gave his wife a sympathetic look. They'd had this conversation many times over the years and, in all honesty, he too had wished for daughters to appease his wife, but it was not meant to be. Instead, they had been blessed with six rambunctious boys, five of whom were now grown men who were as unruly as the day they were born.

"My love, we cannot lament the things we do not have." Edward wrapped an arm about Vincentia, pulling her closer to his side. "Our sons will come around and eventually settle. Do not fret over such things," he said.

"I know, but I am so tired of being the odd one out. I just wished I had some female company. If our sons had wives, at least I'd have daughters by marriage to dote upon."

"You realize our sons adore you, darling. They may not show it, but to them, you are the beating heart of this family. For all their foibles, who did they run to when they were in a scrape? Hmm? Who did they want at their bedside when they were sick? Not me. They come to you when it matters most. When they have families of their own, their wives will look to you, the duchess, to lead the way."

Vincentia gazed at the face of the man she had loved an entire lifetime and smiled. It was not lost on her that Edward understood her so well and always knew the exact right thing to say to placate her. "You are right. I need not fret if I have you with me. We shall find a way."

Edward kissed her on the lips then replied, "We shall indeed. Now, do you feel better?"

"Yes, I do, thank you, my love," Vincentia whispered with a smile.

Edward said, "As long as they do not compromise any young ladies in the meantime, I am sure they will be married in good time."

Vincentia paused for a moment and shot up out of her seat. "By Jove, that's it, Edward." She started pacing the floor again.

"That's what?" Edward frowned, wondering how his wife moved from his arms to halfway across the room so fast.

"Oh, ho. Edward, you are a genius! I know precisely how to get our sons to marry and to bring more women into this family. I can hardly contain my excitement," she said, and pulled the bell cord to summon their housekeeper.

"What do you mean? You're scaring me now," Edward said as he sat up straighter.

Vincentia turned and looked him dead in the eyes and replied, "En-trap-ment!"

"Oh good Lord, no," Edward groaned and rubbed his brow.

"Yes, Your Grace?" Mildred the housekeeper asked as she appeared at the door.

"Mildred! Would you be so kind as to fetch me the list from my boudoir of this year's debutantes?"

"Of course, Your Grace." Mildred exited the room and appeared several moments later with sheets of vellum. She handed it over to Vincentia.

"Thank you, my dear."

Mildred nodded and then left.

Vincentia strode back to Edward and sat down beside him while rifling through the papers. "Now, I shall go through this list and hand select a woman for each son and I will make sure they fall in love posthaste."

Edward asked, "And how do you mean to accomplish that?"

Vincentia replied, "I will trap them in a compromising position and they won't be able to refuse. Better yet, it was your idea!"

Edward made a horrified expression. "This is not my idea at all."

Vincentia ignored him, pushing on. "I can plan out the entire season to ensure the most advantageous matches." She was pacing again with excitement.

"Vincentia," Edward growled in a warning tone. "I ask that you exercise caution. Do you honestly want our sons to be trapped in marriages with women they hardly know?"

"Oh poppycock. We barely knew each other and look how well we've turned out."

"Yes, but our courtship was different. I'm not sure forcing their hand makes for any sort of satisfying long-term relationship. And what of the women, what about their feelings in the matter?" Edward asked.

"Oh, who cares! The women will be so pleased to make an eligible match. I mean, who can resist the charms of our sons, Edward? They're amazing specimens of good breeding and decorum. They are the finest men in the country."

"I recall moments ago you referred to them as the most vexing creatures you have ever encountered."

Vincentia waved her hand dismissively. "That is neither here nor there. I am certain any fine young lady worth her breeding would find our sons irresistible. In fact, I am doing them a favor and paying a great compliment indeed."

"Have you met our sons, Vincentia? Do not force their hand. This will not make them happy."

"Nonsense. It's not as if I'll be choosing women they would not fall in love with. I am an excellent judge of character, Edward. Have faith, my love. After all, it was I who chose you."

The duke raised an eyebrow. "Are you quite certain you are the best person to choose for our sons?" he asked and reached for a slice of cake.

Vincentia whacked his hand with her fan until he dropped it back on the platter.

"Remember what the physician said about sweets, darling? You're becoming a little too portly around the middle."

The duke gave her an incredulous look. "What? I am not portly."

She bent low and kissed him on the lips and said, "Calm down, my love, it's all right. I still find you dashing, but I do not want you laid up with gout when we have a lot to do. Judging by the length of this list, we need to begin immediately."

"No, absolutely not. Vincentia, I will not condone this. If my sons find a half decent woman to marry, I will not interfere."

Vincentia raised her eyebrow and glared at him.

"I will not. You cannot make me. Do not glare at me like that," he said and scowled in return.

She held out the list for him to peruse and kept glaring.

Edward raised his hands palms open, refusing to take the list. "No, I am not touching that damn list. I do not want any involvement in your harebrained schemes."

Vincentia glared again and raised her eyebrow.

"Alright, fine! Give it to me." Edward snatched it out of her hand and said, "I don't know how you talk me into things."

Vincentia beamed at him with a huge smile and replied, "It matters not. But first, I need you to send a letter to all our sons that they must gather here within the week for a family meeting."

"Why?"

"Because you, my dear, are going to give them an ultimatum. They never listen to me."

"What sort of ultimatum?" Edward asked.

"You will tell them that if at least one of them is not married by this season's end, they shall all be cut off."

Edward looked shocked. "That is rather harsh, don't you think?"

"Not at all. I simply want to encourage them to attend balls and routs and come promenading with me. It's all part of the plan."

"And what does this plan entail?"

"Oh Edward, I will not give away all my secrets yet. But for starters, I want them all at Almack's for the London season. There is so much to do."

"Vincentia, was there something in that cake? Because you seem to have lost your mind!"

"No, I am very clear-headed right now, and we are going to make this work."

Taking a deep sigh, seeing the determination on her face, the duke relented. "Very well. I can refuse you nothing. I will do it, but I will not like it."

"Oh, my dear, you are the best husband a woman could ever wish for and the best father. When we have a house filled with daughters-in-law and delicious grand babies, you'll be so pleased that you came up with this idea." She kissed him on the lips and flounced out of the room, smiling.

Edward sat dumbfounded, then muttered, "What the devil just happened?"

Mildred, the housekeeper, replied, "I believe the duchess has outmaneuvered you again."

The duke shook his head.

***

Chapter 3

Mayfair, London

"My lord, a letter arrived from the duchess addressed to me, but 'tis for you."

Lucas looked up from his desk to see his footman, Giles, standing in his study with a letter in his hand.

He put down his quill and asked, "Why did she not send it to me?"

"Because the duchess knows you do not read any of her letters, so she entrusted me to bring the matter to your attention, which I am doing right now."

Lucas shook his head. "She is tenacious, I'll give her that. What does my dearest mother want?"

"Your father, the duke, has called a family meeting, and you have been summoned to attend at your ancestral seat in Hampshire," Giles replied.

"Why didn't my father send me a letter directly?"

"He did, my lord. It is sitting amongst the pile of unopened correspondence beside you. The duchess assumed you had not opened it, so she sent her letter as well."

"Honestly, I am not a child. The way my mother carries on, one would think I'm still in leading strings," Lucas grumbled as he rifled through the envelopes piled on his desk and found what he was looking for. Lucas opened his father's letter and swore after reading the contents. "Why the devil does he want a meeting now? It amazes me how my parents cannot understand I am very busy," he vented to Giles.

"Hmm, of course you are... I can see that," Giles said with a raised brow.

Lucas gave him an agitated look and replied, "I'll have you know I am a very important person. People rely on my expertise in matters of business. I cannot be hying off to the bloody countryside every time my parents demand my attention."

Giles snorted. "Well, if debauchery is a vocation, you, my lord, are definitely an expert."

Lucas glared at his recalcitrant footman. Giles had been with him for several years and was cantankerous, and he had served Lucas well. But some days, Lucas did not appreciate Giles's quips.

"Well, you can write back to the duchess and tell her I cannot attend because I am indisposed."

"You best read this as well," Giles said, handing over another unopened envelope.

"What's this?" Lucas asked.

"The duchess also charged me with the duty of giving you this letter, should you refuse the first one."

Lucas snatched it out of Giles's hand and muttered, "The woman is unbelievable!" He ripped it open and read a line written in his mother's hand: "Lucas, if you refuse to attend, I shall visit you in person forthwith and stay for a week."

Lucas screwed up the letter, threw it in the fire, and said, "Dash it! I'm off to the bloody country."

Giles was grinning until Lucas said, "Stop smirking, Giles, or I'll force you to come with me and have afternoon tea with the duchess."

That wiped the smile right off Giles's face as he muttered, "Not bloody likely!"

***

Later that day, Victor came to see Lucas and asked, "Did you receive the summons as well?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

The brothers were not talking about their father's letter but a summons sent to them from the Permanent Under-secretaries of the Home Office and Foreign Office. Victor and Lucas were secretly recruited to assess the validity of information provided by government spies and informants. No one ever suspected peers of taking on such roles, which made them perfect for their respective work.

"When is your meeting?" Victor asked.

"Tomorrow at noon. Yours?"

"Tomorrow morning. Once it's done, I plan to set off with Sebastian to our ancestral seat. Would you like us to wait for you?"

"No, I'm meeting Harry afterwards."

Harry Basinger was Lucas's best friend. They had fought together in the Peninsular and Harry had saved Lucas's life. Victor was wary of Harry's influence, and he made it known through his disapproving facial expressions.

"What's that expression about?" Lucas asked.

"I know Harry is your best friend, but try not to let him talk you into doing anything reckless before we have a family meeting."

"Harry is harmless, Vic. I keep telling you that. He's good for a lark when things become overwhelming, and right now, I could use the relief."

"Very well. Just don't go on the cut and forget to show like the last time."

"Victor, that was ten years ago. I've matured a little since then."

Victor looked skeptical but said no more.

***

The Home Office

Lucas sat in a small sitting room, sipping a snifter of brandy. The Permanent Under-Secretary of State of the Home Office, John King, sat across from him on a Chesterfield sofa smoking a cheroot.

"Lord Cambridge, thank you for coming on short notice. There are some things I'd prefer to discuss in person."

"I am at your service," Lucas replied.

"We believe the Luddites and Radicals are making a resurgence and will no doubt target key industrial areas."

"I've learned as much from my man on the street. He has been keeping watch over the secret rallies. He should have more information soon."

"This is excellent news. But there's another issue that needs discretion."

"Go on."

"It would appear a member of the ton is financing the latest unrest, but we are unsure to what end. Rumor is he has forged a loose alliance with the military."

"That is precisely what we don't need, but what makes you think that?" Lucas asked.

"Only a nobleman would have the money and influence to operate a network of spies. Therefore, I needed to speak to you in person. No one can be trusted, least of all the peerage."

"What do you request from me?"

"I need you to find those blasted documents and the French emissary who guards them. They will lead us to the person behind it all so we can at least regain order."

Lucas nodded. He would carry out his mission, find the traitors, and assess the information. Now was not the time to be hying off to the country to see his parents, but he would do his familial duty and return to complete the task he was given. Lucas shook his head and wondered when his life got so complicated.

***

Brooks's Gentlemen's Club, St James Street, London

"Why so glum? Do you have a case of the blue-devils?" Harry Basinger asked.

Lucas emptied his glass and replied, "I must return to my ancestral seat for a few days."

Harry grimaced, then asked, "I hope the duke and duchess are well."

"I'm sure they are. This is most likely my mother conjuring up some harebrained scheme to vex us."

"I remember the last time you were summoned, you had to escort some distant cousin to several country balls."

"Yes, and it was a futile exercise, seeing as the frippet ended up running off with a sailor."

"What if you refused to go, Lucas? Tell them to hell with it. You're a grown man now."

"Harry, nobody refuses my parents."

"Well, there's always a first time. Come on, let's do something fun for a change. My lodge is not in use. We can gather some of the usual suspects and make a week of it. I can arrange some female entertainment and we can rut until we can't walk. What do you say?"

Lucas replied, "I can't. I am the eldest and it falls on me to attend a meeting when the duke calls."

"Gads, what a bore. Family duty and all that. Lucky for me, I am a third son with no responsibilities but enough blunt to keep me well supplied with wine and women."

"I envy you, Harry. What on earth were my parents thinking having so many sons?"

"I doubt there was a lot of thinking involved. They were most likely between the sheets the moment they wed. Your father has never kept a mistress, has he?" Harry asked.

"Not that I know of. He is always with my mother."

"With all due respect to your parents, Lucas, I find it unseemly that a titled married gentleman does not keep a mistress as well. It's a sign of prestige."

"Come now, Harry, you've met my mother. She would kill him if he ever strayed."

"I don't doubt that. Still, I'm sure your father must find the duchess satisfying in bed to never stray."

"Do not put that kind of visual in my head!" Lucas winced. "I never want to think about my parents in that way."

Harry burst out laughing and Lucas shuddered. Lucas owed Harry a lot, but sometimes he found Harry's inappropriate remarks irksome.

***