Page 8 of King of Rogues
Perhaps I should say yes to the occasional waltz.
But that would mean handing control to Naomi. Unable to reconcile his mind to such a foreign concept, Monsale set to grinding his teeth.
Could he willingly give up any sort of power to another person?
“Impossible,” he muttered.
Chapter Two
Ten days later
* * *
One of the benefits of Monsale being extremely wealthy was that he was able to support less financially secure London celebrities such as the renowned cook and author Doctor William Kitchiner. His patronage ensured that he was in receipt of a, as rare as hen’s teeth, invitation to the official launch of not only Kitchiner’s cookbook The Cook’s Oracle but the exclusive dinner which was to follow.
Monsale’s excitement at the prospect of an evening of mouthwatering splendor dimmed somewhat as his carriage drew up close to number forty-three Warren Street, Camden. His driver couldn’t make it to the front door as the Prince Regent’s royal carriage was parked rather inconveniently in the middle of the road, effectively blocking the rest of the way.
The carriage, however, was the least of Monsale’s concerns.
Damn. All the other guests will go hungry if Prinny gets his hands on the food.
But even the thought of missing out on the supper wasn’t really the problem. A man was well entitled to be wide of girth, Monsale had no issue with that; it was gluttony that set his mood to dark. The Prince Regent had a well-deserved reputation for not only eating his hosts out of house and home but pressing them for money.
More than once, Monsale had been forced to dip his hand deep into his own pocket to stay in good with the future king. He could only hope that Doctor Kitchiner’s food would keep the prince happy tonight.
Stay out of Prinny’s way and all will be well.
This evening was meant to be a welcome respite from his complicated life. A moment where he could pretend to himself that he was someone else. Not the leader of the rogues of the road, nor even the Duke of Monsale. Just him. He hadn’t been himself for many years, but deep inside, he hoped that the young boy who grew up digging his toes in the pink sands of Bermuda still existed.
No one knew that side of Monsale, not even his closest friends. Many people guessed that they had his measure, but none did.
His own reputation about London society was at times unclear. He had heard plenty of the spiteful rumors concerning his sudden rise to Duke of Monsale. Malicious tales that told the story of how thirteen-year-old Andrew McNeal had used a bloody blade to kill both his father and uncle on the same night in the wilds of Bermuda.
After committing the murders, he had seized both the title and his uncle’s ship. Upon arriving in England, he had claimed the enormous Monsale wealth for himself.
Now that is pure fiction.
The fact that the dukedom was on the verge of ruin at the time, didn’t ever seem to figure in the story. He had arrived in London a wild, brutish orphan and that was more than enough for many ton folk to judge him unsuitable, and therefore an outsider.
He climbed down from his carriage and walked the rest of the way to Doctor Kitchiner’s house.
Inside the cramped foyer of the modest home, Monsale picked up a copy of the new cookbook and flipped it open. It was good to be able to have something to show for all the money he had invested in the project.
His good humor quickly faded as he thumbed through the seemingly never-ending pages of rambling prefaces, advice to cooks, and guides to measures. He had got through more than a third of the book before he stopped. Disappointment sat heavy, his hopes for a light entertaining read effectively crushed.
Where are the damn recipes? This isn’t what I gave him all that money to create.
He was tempted to put the book down, but persevered. When he finally spotted the contents page, Monsale sighed with relief.
Now this is more like it. Food to delight the reader.
His gaze roamed down the long list of recipes. Soups, sauces, fish, vegetables. The dishes seemed endless.
Monsale’s stomach growled as he imagined how delicious Italian sauce with mushrooms would taste. He licked his lips.
I hope the book launch is quick, and we can get down to eating. I am famished.
“Ah, another lover of the art of food.”
