Page 1 of Her Heartless Duke

CHAPTERONE

The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and the stench of death. The earth beneath his boots was stained with the blood of both his comrades and enemies. All around him, he could hear the screams and the groans of the wounded and the dying.

Death never discriminated on the battlefield. It came for everyone and everything in its path.

“Monsieur…s’il vous plait…please!” The string of words came out in a sob, a desperate plea in a heavy French accent.

Isaac closed his eyes. He could feel his fingers wrap around the cold metal of his pistol, could feel the resistance as he pushed it into the graying temple of the man before him.

“I am… a doctor!” the man pleaded. “A doctor!”

“A… doctor?”

Even in the thick haze of bloodlust and the fight for survival, Isaac knew he could never take the life of a man sworn to save others. The bastard might be French, but he was not his enemy—at least not on this battlefield.

Gingerly, he lowered his gun to the ground…only for his finger to catch on the trigger as he did so. A loud bang erupted as his eyes flew open in sheer terror. He saw the flurry of emerald green silk flying in the air, saw the bright red blood blooming on the delicate fabric like a flower amidst a verdant carpet. Eyes—vivid and green—stared at him in shock. Horror.

The French doctor was gone and in his place was none other than the one person who brought him a semblance of peace.

And he had killed her.

“No!” The word came out in a harsh breath…and then a scream.

And still, all around him, the battle raged on, the cannons roaring in his ears…

Isaac blinked as the roar of cannons and the stench of gunpowder faded from his consciousness. His vision adjusted itself to the harsh morning sunlight filtering through threadbare curtains and not the thick haze that normally shrouded the battlefield on the Iberian Peninsula. The screams dissipated, replaced by the lively bustle of the street just beneath his window.

He was not in the Peninsula anymore. He was in London.

And along with that realization, the remnants of last night’s revelries began to manifest themselves in the form of a pounding headache that threatened to burst out of his skull with the same intensity as a bullet.

Nothing I am not used to, anyway.

With a groan, he heaved himself up from the worn mattress that he called a bed, cursing as the world around him tilted and swayed precariously before it righted itself once more. He stumbled towards a plain wooden table, oddly grateful for the cramped space that allowed for things to be conveniently within his reach. He poured himself a glass of tepid water and drank eagerly. His throat was always so parched after a whole night of indulging in liquor.

He moved to pour himself another glass when a loud banging on his door began to set the tempo for his damned headache, causing him to wince.

Who the hell could that be?

“Langley, open up or I swear I am going to beat this bloody door down!” a familiar voice called out from the other side of the door, clearly incensed.

I cannot deal with this right now, he thought to himself, his lips pressed into a grim line as he poured himself another glass.Perhaps if I ignore him, he will go away.

He had scarcely taken his first gulp when the door burst open to reveal his longtime friend, Daniel Bennet, the Earl of Lancashire. Unlike Isaac, who was still in last night’s pantaloons and a wrinkled linen shirt he had just snatched off from the back of a chair, his friend looked every bit the polished nobleman in his immaculately starched muslin shirt, impeccably tied cravat, complete with a waistcoat and midnight jacket. His brown eyes surveyed the cramped quarters around him with obvious disapproval before they settled on Isaac himself.

“Good God, Isaac! You look like something my sister’s cat dragged in!” he sputtered.

“Well, you were the one who barged in without warning,” Isaac retorted with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders. He drank the rest of his water. “How did you get through the door, anyway?”

Daniel grinned and held up a key. “You always keep a spare under the rug, old chap. Much easier to recall when one is not thoroughly indisposed, I believe?”

“Quite,” Isaac replied tersely. He was not in the mood to jovially chat with his friend when he had a raging headache threatening to break out of his skull.

“So…” he glanced around him and noted the glaring lack of decent furniture. Aside from the rickety wooden table and a bed that looked like it had seen much better days a decade ago.

Isaac grinned and raised his glass in the direction of his friend. “I would offer you a seat, but as you can see, I do not have any to spare.”

Daniel sniffed in disgust. “I would not take it, even if you had been so disposed to be hospitable.”