Page 1 of Seeking Ruin

Prologue

Spring 1810

Kitty Highbridge stared out at the expansive ballroom, her gaze lazily scanning the dancefloor as the dancers partook in another monotonous reel. People chatted calmly and only about the most proper of subjects, sipping their watered-down punch and pretending an abject fascination with the weather. Ladies were dressed in the height of fashion, parading around like peacocks in search of a mate, seeking that elusive introduction with any of the titled gentleman in attendance.

How boring.

No, she chided herself inwardly, that was unfair to her hostess. This event was everything a society event ought to be. Fresh spring flowers adorned the windows, the dinner served contained all the latest delicacies, and the hired musicians played their part to perfection. There was no issue with the ball. The problem was her, or, rather, her surprising lack of enthusiasm to what was her first big society event. For months, Kitty had been chomping at the bit to come to London for her debut and leave behind the dull countryside and her increasingly irascible father. Fantasies of glittering ballrooms and exciting London sights had helped sustain her for a good while, the only other solace having been a newfound friendship with the scandalous, but kind, neighboring daughter of Viscount Dalton. Sophie Berrington was a bastion of entertaining company, and her charming older brother, James, fair made Kitty’s heart flutter every time he entered the room. A potential courtship was certainly in the works if this season proved to be fruitless, something that she was beginning to realize was quite possible considering how dull the evening was turning out to be.

“Chin straight, my girl. You won’t attract a gentleman’s eye if you keep staring at the floor like a child in the middle of a hated school lesson.” Lady Smythe, Kitty’s aunt and sponsor for the season, lightly smacked her shoulder with her fan.

Kitty snapped her head up and pasted on a flimsy smile. “Apologies, Aunt, I am just a bit out of sorts. The ball is…”

“Not what you were expecting?” Lady Smythe replied before sighing. “I told your father to keep you away from those silly novels. I fear they put far too much sparkle over the whole affair. I’m sure you were expecting some gorgeous man to come sweep you off your feet into a whirlwind romance the moment you attended your first ball, weren’t you?”

Kitty snapped open her fan with a blush.

Her aunt tutted. “That’s what I thought.”

“Is a little excitement too much to ask?”

“Yes,” she replied, deadpan. “The sooner you get these fanciful notions out of your head the sooner you will see that we have a selection of perfectly adequate gentleman who would be more than happy to take you off your father’s hands.” Said gentleman had been finagling introductions with her all evening, likely lured in by her obscene dowry and rather voluptuous proportions, not that the latter factor was something she was ever allowed to comment on in polite company.

She’d never felt more like a prized mare at auction in that moment, and was beginning to realize that the feeling would likely never abate. Surely there was more to London than this suffocating business. “I need to go to the retiring room,” Kitty mumbled before Lady Smythe could deliver another cooling blow to her hopes.

“Yes of course, dear. Don’t be long out of sight, mind you. We wouldn’t want to stir up any talk, now would we?

Kitty only nodded and turned from the crowd of orderly dancers, walking in the direction of the retiring room until she was out of her aunt’s view and then making a beeline for a set of glass doors leading outside. Finding herself at the entrance to a garden upon exiting, Kitty inhaled the crisp April air and began strolling through the darkened landscape. The garden was impeccable, with not a single hedgerow out of place and each flower perfectly cut to the correct height. She stopped to stare at a white rose bush, trimmed to fit neatly around its trellis, deciding that the bloom would be far more beautiful if allowed to spiral out unimpeded.

“When I have my own garden, it will be far more exciting than this uninspiring mess,” she grumbled to herself, fingering a soft cream petal.

“My, my. It’s not every day someone dares insult Lord Harding’s famed gardens,” a masculine voice said.

Kitty yelped and turned around, peering through the gloom at the source of the deep voice. A man lounged on a stone bench a few yards away, his face obscured by darkness. He sat causally with one long leg stretched out, his hands bracing on the stone.

“You startled me,” she barked out before remembering that ladies were not supposed to speak with such tones. She coughed. “That is to say, pardon me, sir.” Even though his eyes were obscured, she could feel his assessing stare.

It was quiet for another moment before he let out a low chuckle, the sound sliding like liquid through her body. “I don’t think anyone has ever spoken to me like that in my entire life.”

He was of high rank then. Just lovely. Kitty inwardly winced, envisioning her aunt’s inevitable scolding should the stodgy woman hear of this interaction. Everyone always despaired of Kitty’s inability to keep her volume under control in polite company, and even Sophie had gently chided her on more than one occasion. There had already been several instances this evening where a dancing partner had winced at the volume of her laughter alone. Again, it was likely that her dowry made it worth tolerating such a supposed lack of polish. She scowled at the thought.

“Shall I leave you to your assignation, then?” The man drawled.

Kitty nearly choked on her spit. “Assignation?”

The silhouette shrugged. “Why else would a beautiful young lady be pacing a secluded garden in the middle of the night if not to meet her lover?”

The man had gal, that was for sure. She supposed she should act aghast and voice her offence, as most gently bred young ladies ought, but Kitty found herself more intrigued than outraged. “No lover.” She tilted her head, squinting to try and get a better look at his face. “Are you always this uncouth in polite company?”

“When I can get away with it. Which is often.”

“Rather bold of you to assume.”

“It’s the reality of things when you have the rank I do.” His tone was matter-of-fact and without a trace of snobbery.

She raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

The man shuffled something out of his coat pocket. “A duke, if you must know,” he replied and struck the match in his hand. In a flash of fire she caught a glimpse of his face. Dark eyes fixated on her form and a sensual mouth smirked around a cheroot. Heat pooled in her belly.

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