Page 1 of His Duchess of Scandal
Prologue
ONE YEAR AGO
“Ishould be wearing a mask!”
Lady Hermia Dennis’s cry sounded through the dark London street, her protest falling on ears that did not listen.
Ahead of her, her friend, Josephine, the Countess of Redham, only looked back and giggled, reaching out to take her hand. “Forget a mask! Enjoy yourself on your last night of freedom.”
“Freedom!” Hermia echoed. “Josie, all I shall have from now on is freedom.”
She had not quite decided if that was a good thing or not, but her friend’s hand yanked her from that line of pondering before it took root. She was pulled up to hurry at the same pace as Josephine and her husband, William, the Earl of Redham.
He shot her an excited grin.
“See?” Josephine urged. “Even William is looking forward to this, and he never relaxes.”
“I do relax,” William protested. “I once ate a scone before noon.”
Both ladies giggled.
Streetlights pooled on the ground beneath their feet, clad in silk shoes that clicked against the wet cobbles, and Hermia avoided them until she realized Josephine was right.
Who cared if it was her last night in London? She was bound for the countryside tomorrow. Who cared if she was seen?
Leaping through a puddle of streetlight, Hermia felt the elation bubble up her throat, her nerves striking like flint.
Soon enough, they came to a townhouse on the outskirts of London. Even just the fact that they had hurried half the journey on foot instead of going right to one of William’s nondescript carriages said enough.
The night was young, the air was crisp, and this was no ordinary event like Hermia was used to.
“You look like you have seen a ghost.” William laughed as they came to a stop outside the front door.
Josephine, her red curls pinned back from her face while the rest hung loose around her shoulders, gave a specific knock.
One-one-two-two.
She repeated it, and Hermia’s heart fluttered like a caged bird ruffling its wings at the secrecy of it all.
Everybody knew of Anton Bentley, one of London’s most famous actors, but not everybody was notorious enough to be invited to one of his parties. It just so happened that he had once taken to Josephine at her debut, offering her a night of pleasure that she had refused, only for her to fall madly in love with William at the next ball and get married within weeks.
The door swung open, revealing a man with high rouge on his cheeks and a wickedly dashing smirk that widened into a grin as he set eyes on Josephine.
“Anton!” she greeted excitedly, throwing her arms around him.
Hermia stood there, star-struck, half wondering how William did not turn green with jealousy.
A quick glance at the Earl confirmed that he was watching the actor carefully, more out of protectiveness than jealousy.
Anton notably kept his hands to himself.
“My dear.” His voice was a purr, inebriated yet charming as he addressed Josephine. “You have brought me a fresh face.”
His cat-like eyes landed on Hermia even as he turned his head to puff on a cigar that was offered by long, slender fingers over his shoulder. Another hand trailed over his chest, sliding down to toy with his already unbuttoned shirt.
Hermia did not know where to look.
“I am—I am Henrietta,” she stammered.
