To You, My Readers
This book is a prequel to the Wardington Park series, but it is recommended that you read the first two books in the series , and before reading this one. And while this book is sure to thrill and entertain, it will also answer many questions about the past.
Who is Levi's mother?
Why does Abigail reign supreme during the rule of Prince Regent?
Who was Her Grace, the Duchess of Wardington? The woman whose death led Martin into his depression and back into the debauched life?
If you're wondered the answers to these question, then get read to curl up in bed, a chair, or even a long flight, and brace yourself for Lord Martin...
* * *
London
April 1789
"What would your mother say if she caught you speaking to me this way?"
"My mother isn't here." Leaning forward, Martin Dawnton, the Marquess of Clariant, placed a kiss on the lady's neck and felt her shiver against him. He grinned against her flushed skin before placing another heated kiss.
"Clariant." Lady Dudley's hands wrapped around his shoulders tightly. "Oh," she cried. "You make an old spinster feel so alive."
He chuckled, pulled back, and stared at her. Lady Dudley wasn't much to look at. Her hair was a dull brown, as were her eyes, and her nose took up much of her face. But her beauty was not his reason for being here on King's Street in the back of Holland's. Once again, Martin was pleading his case to the Patroness. Seven ladies sat on the board, judging from on high, deciding who could come and go into the exclusive club. To not be received meant you were a social outcast. And your money and rank only went so far at Holland's. What got you in was your good name. At the age of twenty and one, Martin had already earned a very, very poor name, indeed.
His long fingers locked around the chair arm that the lady sat in. He was leaning over her with probably a good foot of distance between them. Her eyes were glazed over in lust. Her cheeks were flushed... and he'd barely touched her.
It seemed like it took forever for the woman to calm. When she did, she sighed and smiled. "You're Hades in the flesh."
"I prefer Zeus."
She narrowed her eyes and grinned. "Zeus? I was sure you would say Cupid." Her grin grew, which drastically improved her looks. "After all, he's the god of love."
"But this has nothing to do with love. This is about domination," he said, lowering himself and his voice, hovering only an inch from her face. "If one should aim to rule, then he should take everything." On the word 'take,' he yanked her chair closer.
Lady Dudley closed her eyes and let out a sound that was both joy and agony. "Clariant," she whispered.
"Give me my voucher," he commanded, already growing tired of this game.
The lady stiffened. "They don't want you in here." They didn't need to be explained. She meant the other Patronesses.
Martin sighed. "But you do, so where's my voucher?"
Dudley looked away. "I—"
"Perhaps," he paused. "I should check under your layers."
Her cheeks flamed as she turned back to him. He'd never gone so far with her. Only ever teasing her until she was ready to faint. But that didn't mean that Martin wouldn't. And they both knew he could. On the moral scale, Martin came in very low as of late.
He fell to his knees before her, grinning as his fingers touched the end of her skirts. "Shall I remove one layer or two?" He paused, so his words would seep in. "Definitely two."
Dudley's breath quickened right before she leaned over toward her desk and presented Martin with the thing he'd come for. "Take it and leave."
He didn't have to be told twice, but threw her a wink before departing. Turning from the offices, he showed his voucher to the doorman.
"Your cravat, my lord."
Martin fixed it without looking down. Appearances were everything at Holland's. Once he was done, the doorman moved and allowed him entrance.
Inside, he immediately felt like he was at home. Young and old stood around, laughing and drinking. The music made the air seem alive and the lights overhead cast the world into rich hues of taupe and cerulean.
"Martin!" He looked up and found his group staring down at him. Frank Eaton was grinning like a cat, his black curly hair falling in front of his striking face, and his pale eyes narrowed. "I suppose they're letting everyone in these days."
The other men around him laughed.
Martin chuckled. "And I have you to thank for that," he countered. "With you in the door, the standards have obviously lowered."
More laugher fell on him and with a quick turn, he went through a hall, up the flight of steps, and walked over to greet his friends. It was the first night of the season, and everyone was glad for it.
Martin found himself wrapped in a tight hug from Frank before he went over and hugged the other three men.
Lord Cecil Haywood, a handsome tall man with black hair and lavender eyes, looked Martin over after their hug. "So, tell me. What did ol' Dudley force you to do this time?"
Martin slipped his hands into his coat pockets and shrugged. "A gentleman never tells."
Charles Cartridge rolled his dark eyes and ran a hand though his dark hair before lowering his voice and saying, "Good thing you're not one of them."
Lord James Hatcher, who was ghostly ginger with eyes so pale you'd hardly notice their green, joined in. "Definitely not." He'd put on some weight since Martin last saw him. Marriage was the cause. Out of all their friends, James had had the banns read before the rest of them. Martin, however, planned to take his time before joining someone in holy matrimony, because like James had pointed out. He was not a gentleman.
Martin chuckled. "I simply told her to hand it over and she did."
"That's it?" Charles frowned.
Martin nodded. "I might have threatened to search her skirts for it."
His friends laughed. He'd missed them. This. It was the only reason to ever come to London... besides the women, of course.
Frank sucked his teeth as he went back to leaning against the railing. "I don't know why we come here anyway. It's a marriage market."
Everyone went to peer over the rail and he was right. Men and women mingled, hoping to find a match for one reason or another.
"We should go to Swifter's," Cecil agreed.
"There are no women at Swifter's," Martin countered with a grin.
Frank shook his head. "I still can't believe they let you in with the scandal you caused last year. Lady Lilias Temple had to see doctors for weeks once you were through with her."
Martin didn't look at anyone when he said, "I never made the lady any promises." It was the truth, and Martin had stuck by it. Even his family tried to get him to marry the girl. It wasn't his fault she'd become obsessed with him. They'd shared one dance, and she found herself in love. Lilias was now tucked nicely away in Bath, and he hoped to never see her again.
Charles chuckled. "Only reason you're here is because you're the son of a duke. A future duke at that."
Martin widened his eyes and then dropped into a dramatically low bow at Frank. "I almost forgot. Forgive me, Your Grace."
Everyone chuckled.
Frank crossed his arms, grinning. "You're just mad I beat you to it."
Martin shook his head. "I've no wish to see my father die."
His friend snorted. "Well, I'm happy the old man is gone." Frank's father, the third Duke of Hensman, had died during the winter, giving Frank his inheritance. The old duke would not be missed, especially not by Frank.
A spill of laughter caught all the men's attention, and they turned and watched as a group of ladies chatted amongst one another. Martin recognized a few of them, but there was one he didn't. She was captivating with dark hair, though it was her eyes that caught his attention. He'd only seen a glimpse of them before she'd turned away, so he didn't know their color. But their wide almond shape and the bed of dark lashes that surrounded them...
"Who's that?" Cecil asked, as if reading his mind. His words were laced with his obvious interest in the newcomer.
James went over to stand by the men. "With the ladies? Oh, that's the Duke of Oakley's daughter."
Martin frowned. "That gorgeous creature is a Kay? She looks nothing like her brothers... or her mother for that matter." The Kay family was gigantic, both the men and women. They depicted the legends of buccaneers. Martin knew her two elder brothers, Lord Albion and Lord Harcourt Kay. They'd attended Eton together many years ago, and even then, the boys had been larger than anyone else. But apparently their sister had not inherited their large proportions. And what a good thing that was. "Where do you think they've been hiding her?"
Cecil grunted. "Who cares? She's out now."
A glance to his left showed him the wild grin on Cecil's face and a dark one over Charles' own. They were already making plans to introduce themselves, and Martin knew better than to let either get there first. Cecil was worse than Martin, easily making promises that everyone but the new lady would know not to believe. while Charles had the whole dark and mysterious air about him that women went wild for. Martin, with his heavy blond curls and lucky green eyes, was easily the charmer of the group. The competition was struck without a word.
Martin turned to Charles. "You in?"
"I find myself interested in a different woman of the group," came Charles' low reply.
"Oh? Who?" Martin asked.
"Lady Abigail Irwin."
"Lady Abigail?" Cecil asked, confused.
Martin stared over at the group. It took him a moment to find her. "Oh." He saw Abigail... And then he saw Abigail. Her body had curved out very nicely.
"Is that Abigail?" Cecil asked, just to be sure. "It looks like her in the face, but the rest?"
No, Martin thought him wrong. The body, though much rounder in the hips and bust, was definitely Abigail. For as usual, her back was straighter than the rest as she fanned herself in even strokes. When he narrowed on her face, he almost lost his breath. She'd transformed since last season.
Her face was fuller, especially her lips. Her golden hair was easy to spot across the room, but from memory Martin remembered her sapphire eyes. And her skin held the evidence of time in the sun. She glowed from that corner of the room. Why hadn't he noticed her skin before? Perhaps he'd been too busy trying to get her to break from her gentlewomanly character to actually focus on her.
"She's tan," Martin mentioned, hoping to throw Charles off. Charles had always been about perfection and tans were not something Society liked on its women. Though, Martin would admit that he thought the color was heavenly on Abigail.
Charles answered Martin's rebuttal with what could only be the truth. "She's perfect." Undoubtedly so.
"She's going to be asked to dance every dance this year," Cecil said. "Were she not hiding up here with the other girls, she'd most likely be dancing right now." Then he chuckled. "Maybe I could ask—"
"Don't even think about it," Charles said, straightening his coat jacket. "I've already asked her father for her hand."
"Does Lady Abigail know?" Martin asked. Sometimes, Charles had the habit of running everyone over in order to gain what he thought was rightfully his. Martin had a feeling that this was one of those cases.
"She'll find out soon enough," Charles replied.
That even got Frank turned around. He stared at Charles. "You're planning to court her first, yes?"
"Courting will be for formalities," Charles replied. "I plan on marrying her."
"If the lady will have you," Martin countered.
"She will." And the resolve was not surprising. Charles always got what he wanted. Which meant Lady Abigail was as good as married. Looking at her now, Martin felt an even greater distance between them.
Martin nodded. "Well, I wish you the best." Then he turned to stare at Frank. For some reason, he no longer wished to discuss Lady Abigail. "Coming?" He gave the man an expectant look.
Frank's face turned guarded. "No, I'll stay here."
Martin lifted a brow. "Frank, perhaps my eyes didn't speak loudly enough. I asked if you wanted to meet Lady Kay."
"I heard you loud and clear," Frank said, before looking back over the railing with anger. His fingers tightened on the ledge. Martin had no idea what that was about, but would get to the bottom of it later.
With a shrug, he turned to James. "You know her?"
"I do." James narrowed his eyes with the answer. He was planning to be stubborn.
"Introduce us."
"No." The answer came swiftly.
Martin lifted a brow. "I was simply trying to be proper, but we both know I don't have to be."
Cecil looked at James as well with a look that said, 'please test me.'
James frowned. "She's Julia's friend. I don't want you causing trouble."
"Ugh." This was the reason Martin didn't wish to marry. "Tell me, does Julia wear your breeches at home?"
Cecil was almost to the floor with laughter and even Frank looked over his shoulder and chuckled before turning back. It was ritual to tease James over his love for Julia. The baron's daughter had barely gotten through her first season before their friend proposed to her. He'd been smitten from the beginning and Julia loved him equally. It was all nauseatingly beautiful.
James' face turned red. "I wear the breeches, but—"
"Excellent," Cecil said, clapping the man on the back. "After you." His lavender eyes made it clear that he was not asking.
* * *
"They're looking over." Lady Julia Hatcher smiled, her fan waving rapidly. She was so excited that you'd think she wasn't married to one of the men who were heading over. But her excitement was less about her own gentleman and more about the ones she wished to introduce to her friend. "And I can see my husband put up a good fight. He looks painfully red." Her pale gray eyes filled with love.
Lady Sally Causey grunted and leaned her dark head over to whisper in Abigail's ear, "The Lord has surely shined upon me, for at least His Grace is not amongst them."
Abigail Irwin touched her friend's arm in comfort. A forced marriage. It was the worst.
"No," Julia hissed as she grabbed Lady Ellen Kay's arm. "Don't look at them again. Then they'll know we're talking about them."
The young Ellen looked quite embarrassed as she ducked her head. "What do I say when they come over?" She was gentle in nature. Though she was around the same eighteen years of age as the other women, something about Ellen seemed very young. Perhaps it was her eyes. They were doe like, a rich brown, with long dark lashes.
"Nothing," Abigail told her. " You do nothing, but wait to be introduced."
"Then you can tell them exactly how charmed you are by all their attention," Sally suggested.
Abigail sighed. "Pay her no mind."
"No, dear. Pay no attention to that one." Sally pointed her fan in Abigail's direction. "She's dreadfully insistent on rules. Only ever lively if I drag it out of her."
Julia chuckled and then said, "Now, Sally, you know Abigail means well."
Everyone knew that Sally was right. Abigail lived by the unspoken law of femininity. Never one to do anything extravagant, Abigail had been called dull, but that didn't bother her in the least. For she'd seen what could happen when a woman lost sight of her reputation. Ruination!
Sally spoke again to Ellen. "You dear, simply stand there and look pretty. Those men, at least two of them anyway, will do most of the talking for you."
Ellen's brown eyes went wide as her shoulder's relaxed. "Truly?"
"Indeed," Sally sighed. "For I've never met a prouder group of gentlemen and by the end of your conversation, you'll be proud of them, too."
Julia and Abigail laughed. Ellen seemed to not quite understand, but she would in time, the other ladies were sure of it.
Abigail watched four of the five men come over and knew she'd never seen a more handsome group of men... and the men knew it. It was why they'd set themselves apart from the rest of the ton. They could easily all pose for Grecian statues. Tall, wide shouldered, with each having their own alluring features. Peeress and lower class ladies alike chased after each and every one of them, at least until Julia took Lord Hatcher off the market. Now, there were three. Lord Charles Lawson, Lord Cecil Haywood, and Lord Martin Dawnton. She turned her eyes away and focused on the group of ladies she was with.
Ellen began to feast on her lower lip. Her nervousness was quite adorable, and Abigail admitted only to herself that at times she found herself full of anxiety around the men as well... especially one in particular.
"Oh!" Julia all but shouted when the men were a few feet away. "James, dear, you remember Lady Ellen Kay, don't you?"
James bowed toward Ellen and introduced himself. Then he proceeded to introduce the others. Abigail watched as, one by one, the men gave their greetings to a quite stunned Ellen. Abigail shook her head and listened as one man after another tried to impress Ellen with their feats and fortune, just as Sally had predicted. Abigail had heard the words so often that she could say them with the men present. With her fan blocking her mouth, Sally did just that.
"My father, the duke," one said.
"Our vineyards in Spain," said another.
One by one they went, with Sally silently joining in. Abigail had to fight hard not to laugh. She so loved Sally's exceptional attitude, always cutting back on the darkness of a situation with wit and humor.
She turned to watch the men and—
Abigail's breath caught as she found one of them looking at her with interest. Lord Charles Lawson, destined to become the fourth Earl of Cartridge. He stared, fixated on her under hooded eyes, his lips slightly parted. Abigail looked away as warmth spread to her cheeks. Snapping her fan in place, she obscured her view of him— and his of her. He was always like this with her. Staring. Never saying a word, but saying everything with his eyes. This had been going on for years.
Sally laughed quietly beside her. "Oh, he's watching you again."
"I know," Abigail hissed. "Don't look at him."
Sally brought up her own fan and leaned closer. "You should say something to him."
"Me?" Abigail was outraged by the idea. "A true lady waits for the man to speak. I will not disgrace myself by approaching him first."
Sally sighed. "I wish he'd approach me."
Abigail sucked in air again. "Sally, you're so—'
Her fan was snatched from her hand, and she turned to glare at her offender.
Lord Dawnton turned the fan in his hands. "You really must tell me what has you both so fascinated with this thing."
Gripping her gloved hands together, she put on her most pleasant, yet abundantly false, smile before saying, "Give that back to me."
He resumed his examination of the thing as though he hadn't heard her. "Where'd you get this one? Spain? Italy?" Abigail didn't understand why he persisted on taunting her.
"Give that back, my lord."
"My lord," he mocked and chuckled. "Why don't you ever simply call me Martin or Lord Martin?"
Her cheeks flamed. "Never."
His eyes glittered, and he shook his handsome head. "You know, one of these days I might get you to eat those words."
"Lord Martin," Julia cut in with a lifted brow. "Return the lady's fan."
Martin threw Julia a wink before saying, "Anything for you, my dear."
Julia rolled her eyes and grinned. Martin had gotten into the habit of almost treating her as though she were his own mother, all because she was married, which in Martin's strange world meant you were old.
He held out the fan, and Abigail braced herself for this game. She went for it; he pulled it back. She put her hand down. He held it out again. Over and over until Abigail was ready to knock him across the head.
"Oh!" she all but screeched. "Give me my fan at once or—"
"Or?" Excitement made his grin widen. He had such perfect teeth. This was the reason he taunted her. He was always on a mission to make her break from her refinement.
Abigail sighed and then turned to Ellen. "Take note of the way he treats me and know he is no gentleman."
Martin turned his head back to Ellen. "Indeed, do take note of that," he said in a dark voice.
Little Ellen, with her large brown eyes, seemed to be basking in him. He'd gotten her. His little demonstration had piqued the girl's interest. Heaven have mercy.
He practically thrust Abigail's fan back into her hand and bowed toward Ellen. "I pray we meet again, Lady Ellen."
Ellen bit her lip and nodded and sighed as the men walked away. "Oh, my."
Julia looked over the moon, her blue eyes filling with unshed tears of satisfaction as though she'd procured a proposal for the girl. "Martin looked quite interested in you," she told Ellen.
"Yes," Sally agreed. "He's quite interested in anything in a skirt."
Abigail laughed and took note to chastise herself later. The joke, though crude, had been funny.
But Ellen looked hurt by it.
Julia placed a hand on her arm. "Don't fear. All gentlemen must marry eventually."
"Yes," Abigail added quickly to reassure the girl. "Those men are first sons, so they'll need wives to secure their titles and futures."
This seemed to lift Ellen's spirit. Then she looked around at the women surrounding her and said, "Oh, I'm so glad that I know you all. You're so much help."
"Is that what I've been doing?" Sally asked, but then threw Ellen a wink to let Ellen know her words were in jest.
Ellen laughed and soon the conversation moved onto other things, while Abigail absentmindedly slid her fingers back and forth over her fan.
* * *