Page 6 of The Duke of Kisses
Chapter 1
London, April 1818
David Langley, seventh Earl of St. Ives, stood in the doorway to the subscription room at Brooks’s Club and resisted the urge to spin on his heel and quit the establishment. Before him, gentlemen milled about or sat at tables where they drank and gambled. This was a world in which he’d never felt comfortable, a world in which he’d never spent much time.
It was his father’s world.
And now, having assumed his father’s title, it would be David’s too. He’d known this day would come, of course, but he’d thought it would be years from now. His father had been a healthy, robust man in his early fifties until a minor injury—a bloodysplinter—had taken him.
The hell with it.
David abruptly turned to leave and ran straight into another gentleman.
“Beg your pardon,” the man said, recovering and stepping back.
“The fault is mine,” David said, irritated with himself for being both hasty and careless. He shouldn’t leave. He should try to find a place. “I’m St. Ives.”
The other man, who was of a similar age, offered a sympathetic nod. “Sorry to hear about your father. I’m Anthony Colton. Please call me Anthony as my father is Colton.”
David had studied Debrett’s and knew Colton was a viscount. This must be his son. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Anthony squinted at him briefly. “Did we meet at Oxford?”
“God, no. I attended Cambridge.” How could he not when it wasn’t very far from his childhood home?
Laughter greeted David’s horrified reply. “So you’re a heathen. Excellent. We’ll get along famously, then. Come, have a drink with me.” Anthony didn’t wait for David to accept or decline, but started toward a table.
David followed, and a few minutes later, they were ensconced near the wall with glasses of brandy. “I’ve never been here before.”
Anthony’s brows climbed his forehead. “To Brooks’s? You don’t say.”
“I was never intrigued by London,” David admitted. “I prefer the country.”
Anthony sipped his brandy. “Why is that?”
David shrugged. He wasn’t about to launch into a discussion of his passion for ornithology. “Society events never appealed to me. I am terrible at dancing.”
“Dancing.” Anthony winced. “You just reminded me that I promised my sister I would go to the Anderton ball tonight to dance with her and her friend.”
“You’re a kind brother.”
“My sister’s a bit of a wallflower, and her new friend is just about the worst dancer I’ve ever seen. Dancing with her is a dangerous endeavor for one’s toes.”
David laughed. “How unfortunate. For everyone involved.”
“Come with us!” Anthony urged. “Felix will be joining me here momentarily, and we’d planned to go together. But three is always better.”
“Felix?”
“The Earl of Ware,” Anthony said. “We’ve been friends forever. Or nearly so. You’ll get along famously. And he’s exactly the man you need to know since you’re new to London. Felix knows everyone and everything Important. He’s a trendsetter and an event maker. If you’re fortunate enough to be in his group—and you shall be—you’ll be invited and included everywhere. Plus, he’s just damn fun.”
The notion of attending a ball on his first night out in London didn’t particularly appeal to David. Hell, it didn’t appeal to him at any time. “While I appreciate the invitation, I’m not sure I’m quite ready to wade into deep waters.”
Anthony chuckled. “That’s precisely what you’ll be doing too. Look at it this way, if you come tonight, you’ll be dipping your toes in with friends who will happily whisk you away at the earliest opportunity. It’s really the best way to make your entrée.”
“I don’t even have an invitation to this ball.”
“Only because they didn’t know to invite you since you’re new to town. Trust me, that won’t matter to Anderton. He’ll be thrilled to have the new Earl of St. Ives at his home.” Anthony was quite persuasive.
