Page 52 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

A DUKE BY ANY OTHER NAME - CLAIRE DELACROIX ***

PROLOGUE

AIRDFINNAN CASTLE, SCOTLAND—DECEMBER 1811

Alexander Magnus Armstrong,Duke of Inverfyre, read his aunt’s letter again and frowned. It was after dinner and he was alone in his library, the darkness of the night pressing against the windows and a robust fire blazing on the grate. He had been looking forward to an entire winter of savoring the pleasures of home.

The letter meant his desire was not to be.

He poured himself a port in consolation, took his favorite seat by the fire and sipped as he read the letter again. The last thing Alexander wanted to do was to abandon his sanctuary and ride for Cornwall, but it appeared that he had little choice.

He had baited a trap and his prey was poised to seize the cheese. It would be irresponsible to surrender the chase now.

Even if his sister Anthea would be disappointed.

Alexander frowned. His aunt, a baroness who had worked her way into every ballroom in London, was also his primary source of information. Penelope sent him chatty letters at regular intervals, cleverly managing to include all of the intelligence he needed amidst the drivel of who had cut whom and who had pawned their silver, substituting sterling for plate. No other soul could have read this missive and noticed the one gem of valuable information amidst the gossip.

In the employ of the crown, Alexander hunted criminals who preyed upon high society. He had been in pursuit of a jewel thief for a year. He had guessed long ago that the villain was the same man who had seen Anthea blamed for his crimes during her first season, but soon Alexander might be able to prove it. He had to catch the scoundrel in the act. A gentleman and gem collector who had experienced losses due to this very thief was aiding in the hunt. Mr. Timothy Cushing had shown the Eye of India to many in London and was dispatching it to the perfect recipient.

Alexander’s aunt shared the news that her good friend, Mr. Cushing, would be giving the fabulous brooch as a surprise to Lady Tamsyn Hambly, who was being married at Castle Keyvnor in Cornwall at Christmas. Aunt Penelope speculated on the bride’s delight at this surprise, for truly, who would not be thrilled?

Clearly, Alexander would also be spending Christmas in Cornwall, although not at Castle Keyvnor. The local village and its tavern would have to do.

He considered the calendar. Since it was only the beginning of December, he could arrive in time by carriage if he set out immediately.

He grimaced, for he was not yet ready to don his foppish disguise again.

Findlay entered with a tray and inhaled sharply, probably because his master had already poured his own port and was simultaneously making a face. “I apologize for the delay, Your Grace,” he said quickly. “Or is it the quality of the port that causes disfavor?”

“Neither, Findlay. You were neither late nor remiss. I was bored with my aunt’s tattle and too impatient to wait. Any blame is entirely mine.”

The older man stole a glance at Alexander as he wiped the decanter and ensured that all was as it should be. “Is there any detail that I can repair, Your Grace?”

“No, Findlay. You will never change my aunt.” Alexander smiled, then folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket. He surveyed the cozy library and sighed. “I will be departing at first light with the coach and six. I’ll want the black team again, though Rodney will not be pleased to have them run again so soon.”

“If he knows now, Your Grace, he will ensure that they are pampered tonight.”

“Yes. The big coach, please. It gives me more room to stretch my legs.”

“Oh, Alexander!” Anthea said from the doorway. “You can’t be leaving. You’ve only just returned home.” She looked to be on the verge of tears and Alexander hastily finished his port. At a telling glance, Findlay filled his glass again.

It was well established at Airdfinnan that the Duke of Inverfyre could not bear the sight of his sister’s tears.

“I fear I must, Anthea, but will return as quickly as possible.” Alexander nodded to Findlay. “Perhaps you could see to the details.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Alexander could see that Findlay was itching to know where he was going and why, but the older man didn’t ask. “Could you send Haskell to me to discuss the packing of my portmanteau, as well, please?”

“Your portmanteau, sir?”

“Yes, I will be gone for at least a month, probably longer.”

“Alexander!” Anthea protested. “What about Christmas?”

“You will enjoy the festivities without me.” When she might have protested, he lifted a hand. “I am somewhat irked to be leaving again so quickly, but there is nothing to be done about it. Dr. MacEwan insists that I take the sea air in Cornwall in December.”

To Alexander’s dismay, a tear not only slid down Anthea’s cheek but she came into the library to sit opposite him and make her appeal. “Dr. MacEwan,” she muttered under her breath and dashed at her tears with her fingertips. “Is the air in January truly so different in Cornwall?”

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