Page 1 of Duke of Fyre

CHAPTER 1

Lady Lydia Brandon swept through Hyde Park, her steps quick but measured, her posture rigidly proper despite the panic rising in her chest. Her eyes darted frantically from side to side, searching for any sign of her wayward companion.

"Mug," she hissed under her breath, trying to keep her voice low enough not to attract attention. "Mug, where are you, you impossible creature?"

A group of fashionable ladies strolled past, their eyes raking over Lydia with barely concealed disdain. She felt their gazes like physical blows, noting the way their lips curled ever so slightly at the sight of her last season's gown and unfashionably simple hairstyle. Heat rose to her cheeks at once.

Lydia straightened her spine, forcing a placid smile onto her face as she nodded politely to the women. "Good morning, ladies. What a lovely day for a turn about the park."

Lady Amelia Worthington, the undisputed queen of the ton's social circle, raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Indeed, Lady Lydia. Though one would think you'd have better things to do with your time. Still no suitors on the horizon, I take it?"

The barb struck true, but Lydia refused to let her smile falter. "Oh, you know how it is, Lady Worthington. I'm simply being selective. After all, one can't rush into these things."

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but it was better than admitting the truth - that at five and twenty, with no serious prospects in sight, she was well on her way to permanent spinsterhood.

Lady Worthington's smile was razor-sharp. "Of course, dear. How... prudent of you. Well, we mustn't keep you from your... solitary constitutional."

As the ladies moved on, their tittering laughter floating back to her on the breeze, Lydia allowed her shoulders to slump ever so slightly. She knew what they thought of her - the plain, unremarkable daughter of Viscount Drowshire, who had failed to secure a match in her debut season and had been languishing on the edges of society ever since.

But she couldn't dwell on that now. She had to find Mug before he got himself into trouble. Again.

Lydia quickened her pace, her eyes scanning the verdant lawns and manicured flowerbeds. She was so focused on her searchthat she nearly collided with a gentleman rounding the corner of a hedge.

"Oh! I do beg your pardon, sir," she stammered, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

The man, a portly fellow with a kind face, waved off her apology. "Not at all, my dear. Are you quite alright? You seem rather distressed."

Lydia hesitated, weighing the impropriety of confiding in a stranger against her growing desperation. "I... I've lost my dog, you see. He's quite small, with rather scruffy fur. You haven't seen him, have you?"

The gentleman's brow furrowed in thought. "I'm afraid not, but I'll certainly keep an eye out. What's the little fellow's name?"

"Mug," Lydia replied, wincing slightly at the undignified moniker.

"Mug?" the man repeated, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Well, that's... certainly a unique name for a dog."

Lydia felt compelled to explain. "He has a rather... distinctive face. Rather like a squashed mug, you see. The name just sort of... stuck."

The gentleman chuckled good-naturedly. "I see. Well, best of luck in your search, my dear. I'm sure he'll turn up."

As he ambled away, Lydia resumed her search with renewed urgency. She could feel the weight of disapproving stares from the other parkgoers, no doubt scandalized by her unladylike behavior. A proper young woman didn't go chasing after dogs in public parks, after all.

But Mug was more than just a pet. He was her confidant, her companion, the one creature in all the world who loved her unconditionally. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him.

Just as she was about to give up hope, a familiar yapping reached her ears. Lydia's heart leapt, and she hurried towards the sound, propriety be damned.

She rounded a copse of trees and found herself in a secluded glade. There, to her immense relief, was Mug. But her joy quickly turned to horror as she realized what the little dog was barking at.

Two men stood in the clearing, both tall and imposing in their finely tailored coats. One was older, with graying hair and a nervous demeanor. The other...

Lydia felt her breath catch in her throat. Never before had she seen a man that… well, intimidating. While he was impossibly tall, his height was far less unnerving than the aura that radiated from him.

His dark hair fell in careless waves, framing a face that might have been handsome if not for the perpetual scowl etched uponit. His eyes, a startling shade of midnight blue, were fixed on Mug with a look of utter disdain.

Lydia crept closer, straining to hear their conversation without giving away her presence.

"...suitable in every way, Your Grace," the older man was saying, his voice placating. "From a respectable family, of marriageable age, and with a sizeable dowry. I really think you should consider-"

"I've told you, Figgins," the other man interrupted, his voice as cold and hard as steel. "I care not for the particulars. You know my expectations and you know which qualifications I expect of her. I have little regard for anything else. The only important thing is that she…"

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