Page 1 of The Theory of Dukes (Laws of Attraction #4)

CHAPTER 1

P rudence Courtright pulled her bonnet tighter around her face. It wouldn’t do to be spotted out and about without a chaperone. Although she wasn’t sure if anyone would recognize her. Her aunt Honoria’s goal of Prudence taking the marriage mart by storm was not even gathering rain clouds.

Although she possessed a sizable dowry and passable looks, Prudence was deemed too… odd. She did not enjoy coquetry. She could smile and nod, but boredom often had her mind wandering. At the previous night’s soiree, Lord Farmingham had asked her a question and waited with a hangdog expression for her answer. Apparently, “that sounds lovely,” was the exact wrong response. He’d walked off in a huff. With her luck, he had been telling her about the loss of a favorite hunting dog. She had probably sounded like a cold-hearted harridan.

Luckily Bond Street was sparsely populated this early in the morning. Prudence’s destination wasn’t the milliner or dressmaker; it was a small shop several turns off the main thoroughfare.

A tingle along the back of her neck made her glance furtively over her shoulder. Was someone following her? A gentleman in a beaver hat pulled low over his brow strolled a half a block behind her, his cane tapping an insouciant rhythm.

She slammed into something hard, gasped, and threw her hands out to catch her balance. A firm grip on both her upper arms held her in place, and she fisted the lapels of a navy-blue frock coat for good measure.

Based on the quality of the wool, she had run into a gentleman. A tall gentleman, considering she stared into the messy folds of a cravat.

“Pardon me. I’m a clumsy oaf.” The man’s voice sent her heart into a panicked sprint.

Not because she could hear the aftereffects of too much liquor and not enough sleep. No, it was a voice she recognized. It was deep and husky and held the distinct inflection of an American accent. Unlike Prudence, who had been brought up by her English maiden aunts in America to speak in a British tongue, James “Duke” Barnes was an amalgam of his upbringing.

An English mother and a father born of America during its founding. His friends were legion and from all over the world and walks of life. He had traveled extensively and had gained a reputation of adventure and derring-do. He was a sought-after dinner guest and relentlessly hunted on the marriage mart in their slice of society. In short, everyone loved Duke Barnes.

Including Prudence.

Her aunts’ church pew was a respectable distance behind the Barnes family’s more prominent front-row seat. That didn’t stop Prudence from staring at the back of Duke’s head and the thick mane of hair all the Barnes children had inherited, imaging what it would feel like between her fingers.

Once he had looked over his shoulder and caught her staring. His blue eyes had burned her in their intensity. Her breath had stopped even as her heart jigged against her ribs. She had expected everything to change now he had actually noticed her. Surely he could tell she was special and interesting and worth pursuing. Instead, he had sauntered down the aisle at the end of the services without acknowledging her.

After the deflating lack of interaction, she had done her best to quash her infatuation. It had helped he’d left soon after to explore the world. A very large world. How was it possible they would quite literally run in to one another? If she wasn’t so practical, she might believe it was fate.

She had never been this close to him. She had never had occasion to enjoy the feel of his body close to hers. He had eschewed the local dances, much to the dismay of most young ladies and their mamas. She inhaled his scent and winced. Her sense of smell was acute, considering her interests. Under a mix of liquor and tobacco, which in itself wasn’t unpleasant, was the hint of cheap perfume. Not exactly the stuff of a maiden’s dreams.

“Are you all right?” He dropped his hands and took a shuffling step backward.

It was a good thing she still had his lapels because his heel caught on an uneven paver and in his still-inebriated state, he stumbled to the side. She held fast and pulled him back to the center, only releasing him when he caught his balance.

“It seems I should be asking you that question.” She eyed him from under the brim of her bonnet.

“Indeed.” He lifted his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and set it back on at a rakish angle. His smile was equally as lopsided and charming. “I do apologize.”

The last thing she needed was to be recognized and have Duke Barnes run straight to Aunt Honoria to tattle on her. Keeping her face averted, she asked, “For bumping into me or being thoroughly foxed before noon?”

His eyes widened at her admonishment, and he dipped his face to get a better look at her even as she tried to hide. “In my defense, I got foxed last evening, not this morning.”

“You certainly smell like you slept in the gutter.”

He lowered his chin to his chest and took a sniff. “I’m not exactly fresh as a daisy, I suppose. I apologize if I have offended you and your?—”

He broke off as he looked over her shoulder.

She knew what he saw. Nothing and no one.

“It’s a rare pleasure to find a lady out alone,” he said.

“I’m a widow.” Her tone was too defensive and telling. Even worse, she’d lied. She owed him nothing, least of all an explanation. She kept her gaze on her toes while mouthing a curse at herself. Once he recognized her, he would know she lied. Her humiliation was nigh.

Maybe she could escape with her dignity intact.

Before she could perform an about face, his finger came to her chin to tilt her face up to his. Resisting would make matters worse. She raised her face, forcing her gaze to his. She wouldn’t add cowardice to her list of faults.

He studied her from her hairline to the ribbon tied loosely under her chin. She waited for judgment that didn’t come.

“You are very young to be a widow. My condolences. Although you are not wearing black, so I must assume you are well out of mourning.” Curiosity and something warmer and potent sparked in his eyes. Was that what interest looked like?

He didn’t recognize her. Her initial flood of relief was tempered by hurt and a shot of indignation. All the years she had watched and wanted him, and he hadn’t really seen her. She had been insignificant.

“My name is Duke,” he added when she did nothing but stare at him.

“Is that your name or your title?” The humiliation of admitting they were already acquainted when he did not remember her was too much to bear.

“Would you believe it was my title?” he asked with sparkling eyes.

“Not with your accent.” She pursed her lips and decided to tweak his ego a bit. “Or your manners.”

His smile didn’t falter so much as morph into something naughtier. “I’ve found many English ladies secretly prefer a man who is a bit rough around the edges.”

Heat burst in her chest and inched out of her collar. It wasn’t only English ladies who turned their wanting gazes on him. The trail of feminine longing in his wake was legendary. Apparently, she had not gained immunity to his charms. In fact, despite his rumpled appearance, or maybe because she could picture him rising straight from bed, she was ready to go up in flames.

She channeled Aunt Honoria’s lessons on decorum and tried to sound prim and proper even though she had never aspired to be either. “That is quite—” Her voice was throaty and unintentionally sultry. She cleared her throat. “Quite untoward, sir.”

“I suppose it is.” He sounded unbothered by her admonishment. “Duke is not my given name, of course. It was given to me by my siblings.”

“Because you are imperious?”

“Because I like to be in charge.” Again there was a sexual undercurrent under the words that made her insides wiggle. “What is your name?”

Usually, she missed the forthrightness of Americans. No English gentleman would consider asking a lady for her name upon meeting. They must be formally introduced by someone else, preferably of higher rank, before they could exchange even trite pleasantries. But at the moment, she wished he bent to society’s rules.

Her mind whirled for a suitable answer. “My name is… Jynx.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Jynx? That is very unusual.”

“It’s not my given name, of course. It was given to me by my friends.” Her slight mocking of his earlier explanation drew a husky laugh from him.

“How did you earn the name Jynx?”

Her friend Clara had first called her Jynx when one of her experiments went awry and acid burned a hole straight through her skirts and petticoat. “It means spell or charm.”

“Are you a witch then?” He seemed to be teasing her.

Was there any harm in confessing her interests to him? After all, his sister, Madeline, was the picture of an unconventional woman. If anyone might sympathize, it would be Duke. “I enjoy chemistry. Lately I’ve been focusing on esters.”

“Esters?”

“Scents. Perfumes. Colognes. That sort of thing.” Of course she would rather be focused on new discoveries like Sir Humphry Davy, but she was practical. If she wished to avoid marriage, she needed some way to earn a living. Her plan—hope?—was to produce signature scents so unique and breathtaking she became sought after in the highest circles of the ton.

To do that, she needed to visit the apothecary and return to their rented town house before her aunt woke even though basking in Duke’s attention made her want to wriggle like a puppy receiving pats.

“That’s fascinating.” He sounded unusually sincere compared to the gentlemen she’d met since being introduced into the outermost ton circles.

Was his apparent sincerity masking ridicule? “Yes, well. I must be on my way.”

Instead of tipping his hat and bidding her a good day, he fell into step beside her. “I’ll accompany you.”

“There’s no need for that,” she said hastily.

“If not need, then want.” He crooked his arm, and she had little choice but to place her gloved hand around his muscled forearm.

At the next intersection, when he would have remained on Bond Street, Prudence steered him down the narrowed alley. The shadows were longer, but their surroundings still respectable.

“Are you not in search of some frippery for the next ball?” To his credit, he did not balk, but kept pace at her side.

“No, I’m not.” She turned left down a narrower lane that was markedly seedier.

“Count me intrigued.” Indeed, a hint of excitement sparked in his tone.

His sense of adventure kindled an answering boldness in her. It was a feeling she rarely had the chance to exercise. Her aunt had done her best to stymie any sort of rebellion. Considering she was skulking down a back-alley in London with Duke Barnes, her aunt had enjoyed limited success.

The apothecary’s sign had once been colorful. Now it was faded and hung slightly askew above the sooty door. Barely legible was the name Smythe and Co. “This is my destination.”

She pushed the door open. A bell tinkled. Duke followed close behind. The store was a maze of shelves filled with glass vials and flasks, hoses, burners, and more. She was surrounded by the accouterments any good chemist might need. It thrilled her more than the finest ribbons or lace.

Mr. Sharma, not Mr. Smythe, was the proprietor, and there was no company involved. Mr. Sharma was a scientist who was most often found in the back room at work on his own experiments. He did not enjoy interruptions. But while he walked around with a distracted air, he had never been dismissive of her endeavors. No doubt he understood better than most. He had not been accepted into the prestigious scientific circles because of his place of birth and lack of social standing.

Prudence had frequented the shop several times now and could find what she needed without his help. Winding through the uneven rows of shelves, she headed toward the small vials of esters at the end of one long row. They were labeled by chemical compound, and each contained a few precious potent milliliters. A single drop spilled in the shop might linger in the air for hours.

She selected two vials, mentally counting her pin money. She had just enough.

Duke was holding a decorative flask of marbled blue glass to the dim light. “A pretty thing, isn’t it?”

“Unnecessarily so, if one is actually performing experiments. In fact, the blue glass would mask the color of whatever solution is being studied.”

“You are very pragmatic for a lady.” Duke looked in her direction with a half smile and brandished the flask as if a merchant hawking his wares. “Perhaps as a vase to hold the flowers of all your admirers then?”

“Perhaps.” Her cheeks heated, not sure if he was making fun of her or not. A widow should be more worldly. Prudence wanted to experience more of life, but it was nearly impossible under her aunt’s watchful eyes.

And if Aunt Honoria discovered Prudence gone without her maid or a footman, there would be hell to pay. Literally. Prudence would be forced to recite Bible verses on sin and disobedience until her lips were parched and her throat sore.

Aunt Honoria had accompanied Prudence to England partly because her health was hardier than Aunt Charity’s, but mostly because she was stricter and more rigid in her duty to keep Prudence from setting a foot off the righteous path.

Duke might not be a gentleman by English standards, but she felt perfectly safe with him. Surely spending time alone with him only qualified as dipping a toe into the devil’s water, as her aunt might say.

“As much as I would like to browse longer, I have other engagements.” She and Aunt Honoria did have plans to stroll through Hyde Park in their finest during the fashionable hour. The ritual held none of the enjoyment of a walk in the woods. In fact, she felt like a lure that could get snapped up and devoured.

“I would like for you to have this.” He didn’t immediately step out of the narrow aisle.

Decorum dictated that she should refuse. “Thank you. I will treasure it.”

His brows cocked. “If you’ll share your direction, I will be the first to send you flowers to fill it with.”

She couldn’t risk him showing up on her doorstep. He would know she had lied. But if she had told the truth on the street, then she would not be enjoying this moment with him. It was a moral conundrum. She stared up at him.

He took a step closer.

Suddenly dry, her lips parted and she dashed her tongue across them. Was he going to kiss her? Was she going to let him?

His gaze roved her face. He drew closer. So close, in fact, her sight blurred and she closed her eyes. The answer to both questions was a resounding yes.

The touch of his lips on hers sent a spark coursing through her veins. Only in her fantasies had her first kiss been with Duke. Now her fantasies were reality, and she should take advantage of the opportunity. Yet, even as energy flooded through her, she froze.

Chemistry she had studied. She had taught herself why soda and vinegar were explosive together. The bonds breaking and re-forming. She had learned why some reactions gave off heat and why others would freeze water.

Whatever reaction was fizzing between her and Duke was something she had never experienced but longed to understand. It was now or never. Once they walked out of Mr. Sharma’s apothecary shop, their paths would diverge.

His mouth was gentle on hers, coaxing a response. Her arms wound around his neck, the vials of esters still in her grasp. If they weren’t so precious—and pungent—she would drop them in order to feel his hair under her fingertips.

His mouth pressed with more intent, his tongue darting to caress the seam of her lips. She opened for him, and his tongue delved to touch hers. Even while heat built in her core, a shiver streaked through her.

He held her fast to him. One of his hands skated over her bottom and gave a squeeze. A tiny moaning gasp of delight escaped her. His lips curled against hers. Was he enjoying himself as much as she was? The same excitement infected her when she was in the laboratory on the cusp of a discovery. It was heady and addictive.

With a deft touch, he untied the wide ribbon of her bonnet and pushed it to the floor. He cupped her nape and skated his lips across her cheek to whisper in her ear. “Have you taken many lovers to your bed? Will you allow me to join you there?”

Her eyes widened with the shock of his words. Never had a man spoken to her so bluntly. Of course, no one else of her acquaintance thought her to be an experienced widow. Gentlemen spoke in purplish prose meant to flatter and obscure any base desires. Not only did she not feel flattered, she was annoyed by the usual treacle.

She much preferred the earthy sensuality of Duke’s voice and request. If she could have, she would have led Duke to the nearest available flat surface. Alas, she wasn’t Jynx, a sexually experienced widow, but Prudence, a virginal debutante.

“You are being untoward.” Even as she chided him, her head fell back to allow him greater access to her neck.

He huffed a laugh against her skin. “I believe in being honest and forthright to get what I want. And I want you.”

Guilt tensed her muscles against him. She should tell him the truth. Or if not that, then at least she should end the flirtation. She arched away from him and took a deep breath, ready to break away.

A crash sounded from the storeroom. Prudence and Duke whipped their heads to look. The door was closed. For a moment there was only silence. Then another crash and a yelp that sounded animalistic.

Had Mr. Sharma hurt himself during an experiment? He could have cut or burned himself. Or he could have been overcome with noxious gasses. Prudence sidestepped around Duke and headed to the door leading to the storeroom.

Duke took her upper arm in a firm grip and forced her to a stop. “What are you doing?”

“We must check on Mr. Sharma’s welfare. He could be injured.”

“I’ll go. You wait here.” Duke moved her aside and took the lead.

She stayed on his heels. “It might be chemical burns or gas inhalation. I have experience with that sort of thing; you don’t.”

Duke shot her a look that might have been curiosity or exasperation. Another crash brought them up short. A wail sounded but was cut off with a suddenness that spurred her heart faster.

Before they could react, the door from the back room opened with such force it bounced off the wall and slowed the man trying to make his escape. A black-brimmed hat was pulled low over his brow, but dark hair curled over the collar of a well-fitting navy frock coat. He was of average height and build.

Without hesitation, Duke launched himself at the man. While Duke was bigger, the man had momentum on his side. He lowered his shoulder and drove it into Duke’s chest. Duke reeled back, gasping for breath. He stumbled into Prudence, who instinctively grabbed for a shelf to steady herself.

The two vials fell from her grasp, clinking against items on their way to the floor. A sudden burst of aroma filled the apothecary. A droplet of the ester was pleasant; this smell was overpowering and burned. She clasped a hand over her nose and mouth.

The man had not stopped, but his hat had been knocked askew. Prudence stepped over Duke, who was gagging slightly either from the smell or the hit to his sternum. The man tossed one final glance over his shoulder at them.

Not surprisingly, Prudence did not recognize him. He was neither young nor old with wide-set eyes, a thin nose, and pointed chin. Then he was gone.

Duke had regained his feet and was pinching his nose. “What is that terrible smell?”

“I accidentally dropped the vials of esters in the melee. One must have broken.” With her own nose pinched, her voice took on a nasal quality. She looked toward the door to the storeroom, feeling the pit in her stomach growing. “Mr. Sharma,” she whispered.

Duke swung his gaze toward the darkened maw. “Let me see to his well-being.”

This time Prudence didn’t protest or try to join him. Instead, she retrieved her bonnet and retreated to the front door, bringing much needed fresh air into the smelly, stuffy store. If you could call London’s air fresh . It was nothing compared to the sweet, forest-scented air of New York’s countryside.

Did Duke miss home? She couldn’t ask him, of course, in case she gave away her identity.

“How is he?” Prudence asked as Duke emerged from the shadows.

His grim expression was answer enough. “Dead, I’m afraid.”

Dead . Her knees trembled. “I don’t suppose his heart gave out?”

“You could say it gave out as he was strangled.”

Prudence’s hand went to her neck, a protective instinct she could not stop. Her thoughts whirled. “What happens now?”

“I’ll fetch the authorities. They’ll require a statement and testimony at the inquest.”

“There will be an inquest.” It was a realization, not a question.

Lying to Duke was contemptible. Lying to the authorities was felonious. But the truth would leave her ruined. She could imagine the headlines of the papers. Unchaperoned American Debutante Discovered at Murder Scene with Man . Any part of the truth was bad enough. Put together, she would be given the cut direct by anyone worth knowing. Her prospects for marriage—and even worse, for her perfumery—would be destroyed.

“I can’t meet with the authorities. I can’t have my name bandied about in connection with a murder. Widow or not, I have a reputation to uphold.” She took another step out the door.

“What about justice for Mr. Sharma?” Duke asked.

“You have as much knowledge as I do about what happened. My statement will add nothing. Anyway, they are more likely to believe you.”

“Why would you say that?” His brows knitted together.

“Because the authorities will be men.”

“Yes, and…?”

Prudence gave a humorless guffaw. “They will think me on the edge of hysteria. They will take you seriously.”

Duke pulled at his lower lip and shook his head slightly but did not argue the point. “You don’t appear to be on the edge of hysteria.”

She might not be hysterical, but she was questioning reality. Was she dreaming? That would explain Duke kissing her and a murder occurring in the next room. She touched her lips. No, she did not have the experience to dream his kiss.

Not to mention, there was no imagining the cold gaze of the murderer as he pushed past her. “I’m not hysterical, but I didn’t recognize the murderer, so I’d be of no further help.”

“You saw him?” Duke’s gaze narrowed on her. “I was too busy trying to breathe. I only saw his back.”

“I gained a brief glance of his face. I’m not even sure I would recognize him again.”

“But would he recognize you?” A dark portent weighed his words.

“What do you mean?” Her mouth dried. She wasn’t a ninny. She took his meaning quite well. With her bonnet knocked away from her face and hair, he would have little trouble in placing her if their paths crossed. Could she be in danger? All the more reason to keep her name out of the proceedings.

“Based on your sudden pallor, you understand the implications. We must talk to the authorities.” He took her arm in a firm hand and led her down the narrow alley back toward Bond Street, which was probably bustling with the beau monde.

“Sir, I cannot— will not —talk to the authorities. You are a man and are not held to the same standards as a lady. My involvement would cause a scandal and leave my reputation in tatters.” She twisted her arm free.

His steps slowed. “I forget how uptight the English are.”

“I cannot afford to forget. I will return to my home and try to pretend this never happened.”

His brows quirked. “All of it?”

It was obvious he referred to their kiss. Perhaps someday she would be able to shear away the memory of the murder from the surprisingly intimate moment, but today was not that day. “I’m afraid Mr. Sharma’s death has overshadowed an otherwise pleasant interlude.”

“Only pleasant? Ouch.” He pulled at his bottom lip again, a habit she had never noticed before that brought her attention to his mouth. She swallowed past a sudden lump. He dropped his hand to take one of hers for a squeeze. “Give me your direction, and I will call upon you to give you an update.”

Oh dear. She could do no such thing. She should pull her hand from his but instead found herself entwining their fingers. “I’m not sure that is wise,” she murmured. “The servants might talk.”

“Then meet me someplace.”

That was a terrible idea, yet before she could stop herself, she asked, “Where?”

He searched the cobblestones at their feet and hummed for a moment before his gaze rose. “Vauxhall Gardens is having a masquerade this evening. There will be entertainment and refreshments. Meet me where the musicians are playing.”

Prudence had heard stories of Vauxhall Gardens. The dinner boxes and main gathering areas were respectable enough for a widow to attend. As long as she didn’t wander down any of the darkened paths where no lady would venture, she would be fine. It was the type of adventure she longed for.

“I do want to see justice done for Mr. Sharma.” She gave a sharp nod.

“That’s a yes?”

“Yes, I will meet you.” She had no idea how she would manage it, but she would. She pulled her bonnet back on and hid behind the ruffled satin as he escorted her to the main thoroughfare of Bond Street and hailed a hack.

With a wave, she collapsed onto the stiff squab, only allowing herself once glance through the window at his tall figure. He gave her a salute. She directed the driver to a corner some distance from their rented town house and successfully snuck into her chambers, collapsing back on the bed with a long exhalation.

She didn’t have time to dwell on the tragic and shocking events of the morning. She had plans to make.