Page 1 of The Matchmaker Meets her Duke
ChapterOne
Emmett Groves snapped the paper shut with a snarl. “I’m telling you, Ashton. It’s her. Lady Pandora is the one spreading these disgusting rumors.”
“How bad is it?” asked Ashton Brexley from the coach seat opposite him.
The paper nearly tore as Emmett pulled it back open. “Not one, but two ladies were caught in the arms of one Duke of W. in a broom closet at a private ball at Carlton House. The ladies, who shall remain unnamed, were led to mischief by the disreputable Duke, who is best known for his seduction of a married lady last month.”
Ashton raised an eyebrow. “But you did bed Lady Ayles at Prinny’s party last month.”
Emmett waved the notion away with an imperious hand. “Certainly, but that doesn’t mean she needs to spread word of it to the masses. It is simply intolerable.”
“Is that all it says? Let me see,” said Ashton, reaching for the paper.
Emmett tossed it into his lap. “She goes on to call me a hell-born babe, though I am hardly a youth and urges her readers to avoid me should they see me on the street. I am a devil, and a degenerate, nothing more than a scalawag whose name on a dance card spells disaster. Lady Pandora is creative if anything.”
The coach bounced over the cobblestones and Ashton clung to his seat before answering. “That doesn’t explain why you want to attend one of her matchmaking parties. I thought you hated these kinds of things.”
“Of course, I hate matchmaking events. There is nothing less attractive than a simpering, desperate Lady trying to get you on her dance card.”
“I imagine that’s why we are taking a rented coach, rather than your own.”
Emmett smiled. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to cause a riot upon my arrival, now would I?”
Ashton sighed. “You can let me off around the corner, then. I want nothing to do with this Lady Pandora. If it is her, after all. You still haven’t convinced me.”
The hackney turned down a side street toward Pandora’s country Manor just outside of London and Emmett swayed in his seat. “The evidence is all there,” he said, pointing to the newspaper. “I’ve been watching her. It hasn’t escaped my notice that she is friends with some of the most heinous gossipmongers in all of London, or that her parties have on their guest list all manner of reformed rakehells. Who knows what they’ve told her.”
Ashton wrinkled his nose. “That seems a tad flimsy, I know most of the same people she does, and you hardly suspect me.”
Emmett broke into a smile as he winked at his friend. “I’ve hardly ruled you out. You do know an awful lot about me.”
Ashton rolled his eyes and gestured back at the newspaper. “You’ve got me, I’m the infamous ‘Lady Datura’, author of the most followed gossip column inThe Morning Chronicle. Forgive me, I forgot to wear skirts today.”
Emmett’s smile turned sour. “That isn’t all. I paid very good money to acquire one of her personal letters. The tone of voice, the way she talks down to people… it’s her, I’m telling you.”
Ashton banged on the roof of the coach, and the driver slowed to a stop. “And I’m telling you, you are obsessed. Come off this nonsense. We’ll head back to London to the Club for a drink or two, relax. None of this revenge nonsense.”
“She ruined me. I had my life planned. I would marry, sire an heir, and go right back to the Clubs with you. And now? My reputation is in shambles, and poor Rose is beside herself with worry. I am still an eligible bachelor, yes, but finding a wife and gaining that veneer of respectability is now further from my reach than ever. I cannot let that stand.”
Ashton hopped out of the coach and leaned on the door. “Best of luck then, my friend. Try not to get engaged.” He closed the door and the coach carried Emmett away.
He looked down at the newspaper one last time. He would find this mysterious columnist and would ruin her reputation the way she had his.
* * *
There was a queue to enter Ravenswood Manor. Of course, there was. Emmett resisted the urge to straighten his cravat, and joined the line. He nodded companionably to the unfamiliar gentleman ahead of him and tried to school his expression into one of patience. It wasn’t easy, he hated waiting. One of the couples ahead of him presented an invitation to the butler, who looked it over carefully before admitting them with a nod.Damn.
No matter. Emmett was a Duke. No mere butler would dare stand in his way. He reached the front of the line, and stared down at the butler’s outstretched silver tray.
“Invitation, My Lord?” said the butler.
Emmett arced an eyebrow. “I seem to have left it in my coach.” The butler ran his eyes up and down Emmett’s tall form in a way that made his spine stiffen. The audacity.
“I apologize, My Lord, but without an invitation, I am not permitted to allow you to enter.”
Emmett gritted his teeth. There was only one option. He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out his calling card. He dropped it onto the tray without breaking eye contact with the butler. Sweat beaded on the man’s brow under the intensity of Emmett’s gaze, and his eyes widened when he read the name on the card.
“Your Grace! My most sincere apologies, I didn’t intend any disrespect. My orders are–”
