Page 2 of The Duke of Deceit

“Take her to the Black Horse in Hampstead,” he ordered and handed over several coins. “Buy her passage on the mail coach to York and a bundle of food to take with her, then give her whatever coin is left. Stay with her until the mail coach departs. I’ll hire a hackney to take me home tonight.” He added pointedly, “And do not touch her, no matter what she offers.”

The coachman hesitated. “But everyone at the inn will see she’s arrived in the coach of the Duke of Crewe, Your Grace. They’ll all know you’re paying her way and think that you…” He didn’t finish that scandalous comment.

“Exactly.”

Lucien turned on his heel, bounded up the wide front steps two at a time, and swept into the opera house.

Whispers followed in his wake as he made his way through the crush of opera goers, accompanied by unchecked stares and craning of necks in order to gain better views of him. Women shared gossip behind wide fans to hide their stares, but he knew they were all talking about him. They often did whenever he went anywhere respectable, such as tonight’s opening performance ofThe Magic Flute. He chuckled to himself as he made his way up the stairs toward his private box which he rented because, unlike most of the people in attendance tonight, he actually liked opera. Loved it, in fact. But most of London would have sworn he attended only to make use of the box for more wanton pleasures.

He let them believe it. After all, having society think he was the blackest rake since Casanova served his ends well.

Tonight, though, something was…off.

Unlike usual, the whispers continued long after he left the lobby and walked down the wide hallway running behind the boxes. Young misses didn’t gape or widen their eyes as they’d always done before whenever he smiled predaciously at them. There were no disdainful looks, no contemptuous glances, and no one shrank away from him as if he were contagious with the plague. No, this time, they simply let him pass. A few of the men even nodded at him as if he were a respectable gentleman instead of a blackguard.

“What the hell is going on?” he muttered to himself as he stepped into his box, leaving the rear door open so the attendant would know he’d arrived.

He tossed his hat and greatcoat onto a nearby chair and moved to the front of the box. He placed his hands on the railing and leaned forward to glance around the opera house spread out before him as the attendees made their way to their seats and boxes. A ripple of excitement rose from the floor, and soon everyone was turning to stare up at him.

“What the devil…?” Had all of London gone mad?

Lucien shoved away from the railing as the attendant entered the box with a bottle of port from the private case Lucien kept at the theatre. He nodded toward the side table in the rear of the box. “Put it there.”

The attendant nodded and sneaked a look over his shoulder at Lucien as he set down the bottle and glasses.

Lucien muttered his thanks and tossed the man a shilling for his trouble, then reached to pour himself a glass.

He looked up. The young man was still in the box. “Yes?”

“I don’t mean to overstep my place, sir,” the attendant began, “but I wanted to say thank you.”

With a faint shrug, Lucien put the stopper back into the bottle and set it down. “I always show my appreciation with a coin or two.” He smiled at the attendant as he lifted the glass to his lips. “Keeps the liquor coming my way and my privacy my own…or whoever joins me in my box tonight.”Or doesn’t.

“No, sir. I meant for your donation.”

He paused. “What donation?”

“To the opera.”

Lucien lowered the glass without taking a sip. Except for an outrageously expensive box rental, he’d not given a penny to the opera. “Pardon?”

“Well, I suppose not tothe opera, exactly, but to the Foundling Hospital through the opera.” The young man smiled at him as if that sentence made perfect sense.

Lucien blinked, utterly baffled.

Misunderstanding his reaction, the young man rambled on, “Donating a shilling for every person in attendance for tonight’s opening performance is a grand contribution.”

“To the Foundling Hospital,” Lucien repeated dully. Surely, he’d missed something in their brief conversation that would explain what on earth the attendant was talking about.

The young man nodded. “That must be why so many people are in attendance tonight.” He grinned. “It’s good to know all that caterwauling’s good for something, eh?”

“You’re mistaken. I haven’t donated anything to anyone, least of all to children.” He curled his lips into a well-practiced sneer, lowered his voice as if sharing a secret, and lied, “As far as I’m concerned, the fewer urchins clogging our streets the better. If God wants them to starve, who am I to stop Him?”

The young man’s mouth fell open, and he gaped at Lucien.

Now out of patience and wanting time alone before the opera began, Lucien waved the attendant from the box. This time when he raised his glass, he took a long, healthy swallow of port andrelished its rich taste on his tongue. Perhaps this night would make more sense once he reached the bottom of the glass.

If what the attendant had told him was truly circulating through the opera house, then no wonder everyone was staring at him tonight. They simply couldn’t believe such an act of kindness would come from him.