Maiden Lane [6] Duke of Midnight (40 page)

M
EANWHILE
…

“Nine
fucking
years.”

Apollo sat on an overturned tin pail and watched as his good friend, Asa Makepeace, thrust the bottle of wine gripped in his fist into the air, a defiant salute.

“D’you hear me, ’Pollo?” Asa demanded, waving the bottle so wildly he nearly boxed Apollo’s ear with it. “
Nine
fucking years. I could’ve been whoring or drinking or pottering about the continent,
seeing
places, and instead
I was working, nay,
slaving
on this very pleasure garden, building and planting and coddling fickle actresses and more fickle
actors
and now,
now
it’s nothing but a smoldering pile of
shit
. I say again: nine fucking
years
!”

Apollo sighed and drank from his own bottle as Asa continued to repeat his profane refrain. Apollo’s bottle was half gone, which was good since he no longer cared that the wine stank of smoke. They sat in the only part of Harte’s Folly still standing: the actor’s dressing rooms behind the stage.

Or what had once been the stage. That part of the theater, and indeed the rest of it, was a still-smoldering blackened mess of fallen beams and debris, too hot to sift through to see if anything could be recovered, although Apollo was very doubtful on that score.

It might have been nine years of Asa’s life lost tonight, but it was also the last bit of capital Apollo had to his name gone, too. Just before he’d woken that dreadful day to find three of his acquaintances bloodily slaughtered around him, he’d taken that capital—a tiny legacy from his father—and invested the lot in Harte’s Folly. At the time it had seemed a sound financial move: he was terrible with money while Asa seemed on the verge of wealth and prosperity with the pleasure garden. Apollo hadn’t expected too much—maybe enough made in interest to keep himself and Artemis.

That dream had just turned to ash.

“ ’Spect I’ll have to live on the street now,” Asa was saying mournfully to his bottle. “My family isn’t too fond of me, you know. And I haven’t any talent or trade save the ability to talk people into things—like I talked you into giving me all your savings, ’Pollo.”

Apollo would’ve corrected Asa’s misconception—he’d made the investment decision of his own free will—but he still couldn’t speak, and he wasn’t sure it mattered anyway. Asa seemed to be almost enjoying wallowing in his own tragedy.

“Hullo?”

They looked at each other at the call from without.

Asa’s eyebrows rose comically high on his forehead. “Who d’you think that is?” he asked in a very loud whisper.

“Ah, there you are.” The prettiest man Apollo had ever seen picked his way through the trash strewn around their little shelter. He was exquisitely dressed in a silver waistcoat and a pink satin coat and breeches, but it was his hair that drew the eye: shining golden curls drawn back by a huge black bow.

Fop
, thought Apollo.

“Who the hell are you?” Asa asked belligerently.

The fop smiled and Apollo’s eyes narrowed. He might be pretty, but this wasn’t a man to be underestimated.

“I?” The fop fastidiously laid a lace handkerchief on the remains of a bench and perched on it. “I am Valentine Napier, the Duke of Montgomery, and I have a proposition for you, Mr. Makepeace.”

Lord of Darkness

Thief of Shadows

Scandalous Desires

Notorious Pleasures

Wicked Intentions

To Desire a Devil

To Seduce a Sinner

To Beguile a Beast

To Taste Temptation

The Ice Princess

The Serpent Prince

The Leopard Prince

The Raven Prince

“
Lord of Darkness
illuminates Hoyt’s boundless imagination… readers will adore this story.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Hoyt’s writing is imbued with great depth of emotion… heartbreaking… an edgy tension-filled plot.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“
Lord of Darkness
is classic Elizabeth Hoyt, meaning it’s unique, engaging, and leaves readers on the edge of their seats, waiting for the next book… an incredible addition to the fantastic Maiden Lane series. I Joyfully Recommend Godric and Megs’s tale, for it’s an amazing, well-crafted story with an intriguing plot and a lovely, touching romance that I want to enjoy again and again and again… simply enchanting!”

—JoyfullyReviewed.com

“I adore the Maiden Lane series, and this fifth book is a very welcome addition to the series… [It’s] sexy and sweet all at the same time… This can be read as a standalone, but I adore each book in this series and encourage you to start from the beginning.”

—
USA Today’s
Happy Ever After Blog

“Beautifully written… a truly fine piece of storytelling and a novel that deserves to be read and enjoyed.”

—TheBookBinge.com

“An expert blend of scintillating romance and mystery… The romance between the beautiful and quick-witted Isabel and the masked champion of the downtrodden propels this novel to the top of its genre.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“Amazing sex scenes… a very intriguing hero… This one did not disappoint.”

—
USA Today

“Innovative, emotional, sensual… Hoyt’s beautiful blending of the essential elements of a fairy tale into a stunning love story enhances this delicious ‘keeper.’ ”

—
RT Book Reviews

“All of Hoyt’s signature literary ingredients—wickedly clever dialogue, superbly nuanced characters, danger, and scorching sexual chemistry—click neatly into place to create a breathtakingly romantic love story.”

—
Booklist

“When [they] finally come together, desire and long-denied sensuality explode upon the page.”

—
Library Journal

“With heart and heat rolled into one,
Thief of Shadows
is a definite must-read for historical romance fans! Hoyt really has outdone herself… yet again.”

—UndertheCoversBookblog.blogspot.com

“A balanced mixture of action, adventure, and mystery and a beautifully crafted romance… The perfect historical romance.”

—HeroesandHeartbreakers.com

“Historical romance at its best… Series fans will be enthralled, while new readers will find this emotionally charged installment stands very well alone.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“4½ stars! This is the Maiden Lane story readers have been waiting for. Hoyt delivers her hallmark fairy tale within a romance and takes readers into the depths of the heart and soul of her characters. Pure magic flows from her pen, lifting readers’ spirits with joy.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“With its lush sensuality, lusciously wrought prose, and luxuriously dark plot,
Scandalous Desires
, the latest exquisitely crafted addition to Hoyt’s Georgian-set Maiden Lane series, is a romance to treasure.”

—
Booklist
(starred review)

“Ms. Hoyt writes some of the best love scenes out there. They are passionate, sexy, and blazing hot… I simply adore Ms. Hoyt’s books for her sensuous prose, multifaceted characters, and intense, well-developed story lines. And she delivers every single time. It’s no wonder all of her books are on my keeper shelves. Do yourself a favor and pick up
Scandalous Desires
.”

—TheRomanceDish.com

“
Scandalous Desires
is the best book Elizabeth Hoyt has written so far, with endearing characters and an all-encompassing romance you’ll want to hold close and never let go. If there’s one must-read book, especially for historical romance fans, it’s
Scandalous Desires.
”

—FallenAngelReviews.com

“Emotionally stunning… The sinfully sensual chemistry Hoyt creates between her shrewd, acid-tongued heroine and her scandalous, sexy hero is pure romance.”

—
Booklist

“4½ stars! Top Pick! A magnificently rendered story that not only enchants but enthralls.”

—
RT Book Reviews

L
ONDON

F
EBRUARY
1737

A woman abroad in St. Giles at midnight was either very foolish or very desperate. Or, as in her own case, Temperance Dews reflected wryly, a combination of both.

“ ’Tis said the Ghost of St. Giles haunts on nights like this,” Nell Jones, Temperance’s maidservant, said chattily as she skirted a noxious puddle in the narrow alley.

Temperance glanced dubiously at her. Nell had spent three years in a traveling company of actors and sometimes had a tendency toward melodrama.

“There’s no ghost haunting St. Giles,” Temperance replied firmly. The cold winter night was frightening enough without the addition of specters.

“Oh, indeed, there is.” Nell hoisted the sleeping babe in her arms higher. “He wears a black mask and a harlequin’s motley and carries a wicked sword.”

Temperance frowned. “A harlequin’s motley? That doesn’t sound very ghostlike.”

“It’s ghostlike if he’s the dead spirit of a harlequin player come back to haunt the living.”

“For bad reviews?”

Nell sniffed. “
And
he’s disfigured.”

“How would anyone know that if he’s masked?”

They were coming to a turn in the alley, and Temperance thought she saw light up ahead. She held her lantern high and gripped the ancient pistol in her other hand a little tighter. The weapon was heavy enough to make her arm ache. She could have brought a sack to carry it in, but that would’ve defeated its purpose as a deterrent. Though loaded, the pistol held but one shot, and to tell the truth, she was somewhat hazy on the actual operation of the weapon.

Still, the pistol looked dangerous, and Temperance was grateful for that. The night was black, the wind moaning eerily, bringing with it the smell of excrement and rotting offal. The sounds of St. Giles rose about them—voices raised in argument, moans and laughter, and now and again the odd, chilling scream. St. Giles was enough to send the most intrepid woman running for her life.

And that was without Nell’s conversation.

“
Horribly
disfigured,” Nell continued, ignoring Temperance’s logic. “ ’Tis said his lips and eyelids are clean burned off, as if he died in a fire long ago. He seems to grin at you with his great yellow teeth as he comes to pull the guts from your belly.”

Temperance wrinkled her nose. “Nell!”

“That’s what they say,” Nell said virtuously. “The ghost guts his victims and plays with their entrails before slipping away into the night.”

Temperance shivered. “Why would he do that?”

“Envy,” Nell said matter-of-factly. “He envies the living.”

“Well, I don’t believe in spirits in any case.” Temperance took a breath as they turned the corner into a small, wretched courtyard. Two figures stood at the opposite end, but they scuttled away at their approach. Temperance let out her breath. “Lord, I hate being abroad at night.”

Nell patted the infant’s back. “Only a half mile more. Then we can put this wee one to bed and send for the wet nurse in the morning.”

Temperance bit her lip as they ducked into another alley. “Do you think she’ll live until morning?”

But Nell, usually quite free with her opinions, was silent. Temperance peered ahead and hurried her step. The baby looked to be only weeks old and had not yet made a sound since they’d recovered her from the arms of her dead mother. Normally a thriving infant was quite loud. Terrible to think that she and Nell might’ve made this dangerous outing for naught.

But then what choice had there been, really? When she’d received word at the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children that a baby was in need of her help, it had still been light. She’d known from bitter experience that if they’d waited until morn to retrieve the child, it would either have expired in the night from lack of care or would’ve already been sold for a beggar’s prop. She shuddered. The children bought by beggars were often made more pitiful to elicit sympathy from passersby. An eye might be put out or a limb broken or twisted. No, she’d really had no choice. The baby couldn’t wait until morning.