Page 1 of The Duke of Ice
Chapter 1
October 1817
Rain clouds movedin from the horizon, promising a drenching in the next thirty minutes or so. Nicholas Bateman, tenth Duke of Kilve, was glad he’d completed his outdoor activities for the day. He stared at the expanse of ocean stretching beyond the cliffs, never failing to appreciate the immensity and treachery of the world around him. Or how small and insignificant it made him feel.
“Your Grace?”
The sound of Markley’s gentle query drew Nick to turn from the window. He looked at the butler in silent response.
“His Grace, the Duke of Romsey, has arrived.”
A jolt of surprise hummed through Nick’s frame. He hadn’t expected to see his oldest—his only, really—friend until next month when they would meet at Simon’s hunting lodge in the north of England.
Nick leaned back in his chair. “Show him in.”
With a nod, Markley pivoted and departed. A few moments later, Simon strode into Nick’s office, his dark hair artfully disheveled—as it usually was—and his brown eyes alight with some sort of mischief. When one considered Simon’s background, it was no small feat that he was a near-constant source of wit and humor.
Simon deposited himself into a high-backed chair and stretched his long legs out before him.
“Comfortable?” Nick asked.
“Not yet, but I’ll get there. It was a hell of a ride. I was trying to beat the weather.”
“Well done of you,” Nick said. “To what do I owe this surprise?”
Simon slipped his hand into an inner pocket on the front of his coat and withdrew an envelope. He rose from the chair and tossed the missive on Nick’s desk before falling back onto the cushion.
Wordlessly, Nick opened the parchment and read the contents. The ill humor he worked to keep at bay stole over him as surely as the storm clouds moving rapidly toward the shore.
He dropped the letter on his desk and fixed his friend with an icy stare. “So?”
Simon exhaled with great exasperation. “It’s an invitation. I realize it’s been eons since either of us has received one, but surely you recall what they look like.”
“Vaguely.” Nick didn’t bother trying to remember. What was the point? He didn’t want to go to house parties or balls or any of the other nonsense that mattered to the ninnyhammers in Society. Nick wasn’t ever supposed to be one of their number, and he would never forget that.
“You’re being purposely morose.”
“It’s my way.”
Simon rolled his eyes. “Yes. However, it is not mine. I am thrilled to finally be invited to something, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to keep me from it.”
Nick shrugged before resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. “I wouldn’t dream of doing so. You should go.”
Simon pulled his legs up and leaned forward. “Didn’t you read it? I am heartily encouraged to attend the partywiththe Duke of Ice.”
“It didn’t say that.”
“No, it said Duke of Kilve, but let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?” Simon gave him a bland smile. “Anyway, it’s not nearly so derogatory a nickname as mine. Plus, it fits.” Simon leaned back in his chair with a resigned sigh. “I suppose mine does too.”
Not by half, but that was because Nick knew Simon better than anyone, and his friend didn’t deserve to be called the Duke of Ruin. Nick, on the other hand,wasthe bloody Duke of Ice whether he liked it or not. And truth be told, he liked it. Or at least preferred it. When people thought you were incapable of interaction, they generally left you alone. And that made Nick quite content.
“Yes, mine fits. Yours, however, does not, and I’ll not argue with you about that.”
Simon shook his head. “Heaven forbid anyone debate you.”
Nick snorted. “You debate me constantly. Your insisting I go to this house party is ample evidence.”
“True,” Simon said with a grin. “So you’ll go?”
