Page 3 of Season of the Scoundrel (The Bridewell Sisters #3)

I t wasn’t every day that Ross Emerson, Duke of Blackbourne, walked down Fleet Street and ended up with a young lady plastered against his body.

The whole encounter had been extraordinary. He told himself that’s why he couldn’t get it out of his head. She’d been foolhardy and reckless but undeniably magnificent as she’d stepped between a thug and an urchin.

A thug Ross recognized. Ebenezer Farley had known him too. One look from Ross, and the coward had hied off. Farley was a cruel, blustering manager in one of his competitor’s press rooms, and now Ross had a reason to speak to the paper’s owner about the man’s antics.

But she had truly been the one to stop the blackguard.

Ross had come upon the scene as Farley shouted at the young woman, but he’d also noticed the child crouched behind her and guessed what must have unfolded.

Only when the bastard attempted to put his hands on the lady had Ross stepped in.

What he hadn’t been prepared for was the feel of her pressed against him.

Her cinnamon and vanilla scent. Her bright green eyes when she turned to face him.

His brain had stalled for a moment, but he’d registered sable hair, a pert nose, and a plush mouth that sparked a mad urge to trace the pad of his thumb across her lips.

She was a beauty, and the challenge in her eyes only made her more so. He’d seen fire in those green depths, heat along the curve of her cheeks. She’d been glorious in her righteous fury. But also damnably rash. Farley was a brawny sort, and he could have done her real harm.

Ross was glad he’d come upon the scene when he did, though the lady had seemed less than impressed with his intervention.

She hadn’t said a word to him before rushing over to the child, offering the waif some coins and what appeared to be her calling card.

Then she’d stood, dusted off her smart walking suit, and strode off as if she hadn’t just been at the center of a ruckus in the middle of Fleet Street.

He could still smell her scent on his clothes. When had vanilla and cinnamon become so enticing?

Good God, man. Get ahold of yourself. He had no time for distractions. And he’d never have room for a reckless hellion in his life.

Striding down the block, he shifted his focus to the workday ahead as he spotted the offices of The London Sentinel , the newspaper he’d acquired a few months ago. It was his newest project and one that he intended to turn into a triumph.

Some thought it inappropriate that a duke should own a newspaper, or engage in commerce of any sort.

But Ross had long ago realized that success in business was the only way for his dukedom to survive.

And he wasn’t the only nobleman who invested in industry or owned enterprises.

The smartest ones ignored the disdain of their stuffier peers and focused on the far more vital goal of keeping their noble families and estates from falling into ruin.

The Sentinel had been failing, but he’d brought on a new managing editor and additional staff, who’d helped to turn things around. Their circulation had ticked up. The paper was no longer running at a loss, and they were quickly becoming a popular London daily.

As he entered the main door, then headed up to his office, a clerk passed him on the stairs. They exchanged a nod in greeting, but then the young man rushed past as if hellhounds were on his heels. One of the lady typists passed by next, wearing a similar uneasy look on her face.

Then the Duchess of Blackbourne’s warm, elegant voice rang out, and he understood his staff’s dismay.

His mother was enthusiastically schooling whoever had been ill-fated enough to prepare her cup of tea incorrectly.

His mother could orate with as much passion about tea as others enthused over art or poetry.

Ross reached the top of the stairs, headed toward his office, and smiled at the sight of her as another clerk rushed past. His mother’s hat, a grand velvet and floral concoction, dipped as she sipped her tea.

“Mama,” he said, then bent to kiss her cheek. “What brings you to the city?”

“Darling, you know very well what brings me to the city on this particular day.” She pointed to a wrapped gift on the top of his desk. “Happy birthday, my son. Do open it.”

Ross slipped the ribbon from the box and lifted the lid to find two smaller boxes inside.

One was from Fortnum and Mason and likely contained a collection of teas she knew he liked.

The second box was smaller, and upon opening it, he found a ring inside with a sizable faceted emerald at its center, surrounded by glinting diamonds.

He recognized it as one that had been in their family for centuries.

“You’re giving me one of the family gems?”

“Indeed. When you propose, you’ll want a special ring to offer your chosen lady, won’t you?”

Ross arched a brow and sighed lightly. “Am I proposing to someone that I’m not aware of?”

“Have you not chosen your bride yet?” she replied, quick as the snap of a whip.

“Mama. I know that you are a keen reader of the scandal rags. If I had proposed to anyone, you would certainly know. Therefore, you must be aware that I have not.”

His mother smiled; mischief glittered in her blue eyes. “But it is time that you do.”

Ross resisted the urge to retort. She’d come all this way. Might as well let her have her say.

“My darling, you are now thirty years old. I can accept that you prefer to spend your time here in the city working .” She put derisive emphasis on the word. “And I know that you will eventually spend a few months at home with us.”

“Mama…” He wouldn’t stomach the implication that he ignored his ducal estate or his duties. He visited the Sussex manor frequently, and staff members and a trustworthy, talented steward took care of matters at Blackbourne Manor when he was not in residence.

She lifted a bejeweled hand. “I know you have your investments, your businesses, your clubs, your charities, my dear. But a dukedom needs a duchess to oversee it and heirs to carry it forward. Those are your responsibilities as much as keeping our coffers healthy, for which I am very grateful, as, I assure you, are your younger brother and sister.”

“I’m well aware of my duties, Mama.”

Lifting her cup, she sipped her tea, winced, and gave him a smile that seemed to say, Then do your duty .

“While I am in London for a bit of shopping with the holidays in mind, I thought I might just come and offer a reminder?—”

“The same reminder you’ve offered every year for the last decade.”

“Goodness, has it been that long? And not a single proper and appealing young lady has crossed your path in all that time?”

Ross swallowed as heat swept through him. A certain young lady had stumbled straight into his path less than a quarter of an hour ago, and she was certainly appealing. Though he doubted is mother would find a lady who’d throw herself in the middle of a street fracas to be proper.

Maddeningly, when he licked his lips, he imagined he could still taste vanilla.

“I’ve had the dower house refurbished to my liking,” his mother went on. “I’m quite looking forward to moving in. And to having a daughter-in-law. And grandchildren.”

“I take your meaning, Mama, and I will consider the matter.”

She held his gaze a moment, her eyes searching as if she could see to the very depths of his soul.

“Will you make this a priority?” she asked softly. “While seeing to your newspapers, your railroads, and your banking interests, please take a moment to find yourself a duchess. Let it be this year. Neither of us knows what life holds. The future is uncertain.”

The comment landed as she’d intended—a blow straight to his gut.

His father had died in the middle of his fortieth year. Far too young. Completely unexpectedly. Life was unpredictable, and marrying was his duty.

She seemed to see the shift in his expression, that he’d understood her meaning and it had caused him to consider the issue seriously. After another moment, she stood, her lavishly beaded gown rustling.

Ross stood too and went to her. “Thank you for coming, Mama.”

“It is always good to see you.” She cupped his cheek. “I hope to see you again soon with a very proper young lady on your arm.”

He stifled a groan, but subtlety had never been his mother’s way, and he loved her for her forthright manner, even when he was being bombarded by it.

“I must be off. I have a train ticket booked to return to Sussex today,” she announced, then swept toward the door. At the threshold, she turned back. “Oh, and do expect an invitation from Lady Tressick. As a reminder, she has two lovely, unwed daughters.”

After she’d gone, Ross settled into the chair behind his desk and prepared for his day. Yet memories came unbidden of a dark-haired lady whose body fitted neatly against his own, whose chin bore an appealing dimple, and whose nose and cheeks were sprinkled with freckles.

He hadn’t found it so difficult to focus in a very long time.

Though it was his own fault. He’d been so preoccupied with building profitable businesses over the last couple of years that he’d refused nearly every invitation that came his way.

He hadn’t even found the time for a mistress or the briefest of liaisons.