Daylight was beginning to wane, the shadows deepening, and he clung to them as he made his way into the garden, letting himself out the back gate and to the alleyway that fronted the mews. And he did not look back.
Chapter 1
1818
Mr. Quincy Nesbitt had suspected his return to London would be painful—that riding down streets that were at once foreign and familiar would be like tearing open an old wound.
It brought him not an ounce of pleasure to know just how right he had been.
He took a deep breath as he headed down Brook Street from his hotel, trying to rein in the sensation of being suffocated under a wet blanket. But no matter his attempts, the feeling persisted, increasing with each clip of his horse’s hooves on the cobbles. Damnation, but this had been a mistake. He had thought it the ideal plan when setting sail from Boston: he could visit with his closest friend, Peter Ashford, now Duke of Dane, before setting off on the first leg of his world travels. And with Peter in London for the season, it gave Quincy the push he needed to finally confront the ghosts of his past. It was something he should have done long ago.
Now that he was here, however…
His mount tossed its head in protest. Quincy took a deep breath, relaxing his iron grip on the reins, silently reproaching himself for his distracted ham-handedness. There was no reason for his anxiety. Though his family’s townhome was two streets up in Berkeley Square, though he was closer to that place than he had been in fourteen years, he was not headed there just yet. He would see Peter first before bearding that particular lion.
The thought eased some of the tension from his shoulders. Over the past decade and a half, nearly from the moment Quincy had run from home and joined the crew of the American merchant ship The Persistence, he and Peter had been inseparable. And while he was thrilled for the new life his friend had made for himself since returning to England, the past year with the whole of the Atlantic Ocean between them had been a long one. With the last of their business in America sold off and his responsibilities firmly behind him, Quincy could visit with his friend and make up for lost time. He urged his mount on until, finally, he was before Peter’s London home in Grosvenor Square.
Though the townhouse blended in with its surroundings in an understated way, it was an impressive specimen. Quincy gazed up at it as he dismounted, a low whistle escaping his lips. The filthy orphan he’d found hiding away in the hull of The Persistence had certainly come up in the world. Back then Peter had been reeling from his mother’s untimely death and running from an uncertain and abhorrent future. Their fears had bound them, the friendship a lifeline for two young boys.
Now Peter was a duke. Quincy grinned, anticipation overriding his anxiety for the first time since he’d stepped foot off the ship and onto English soil. Damn, but he had missed his friend. Securing his horse, he strode up the front stairs to the imposing black door.
His knock was answered with alacrity by a stoic-faced butler. “May I help you, sir?”
“Is His Grace in?”
“Who may I ask is calling?”
Quincy grinned. “Oh, now, don’t spoil the fun.”
The man blinked. “Pardon me, sir?”
“I shall, and gladly,” Quincy said, pushing into the front hall, “if you play along and show me to the duke.”
The butler’s mouth fell open. “Sir, I must insist—”
“Have no fear,” he declared, holding up a hand. “His Grace will not bring down fire and brimstone on your head. Though he can be a grim fellow at times, I promise he will be happy to see me.” He smiled his most charming smile. “Now do a man a favor, for I’ve traveled long and hard to see my friend and I cannot wait a moment longer.”
The man, no doubt dazed by the barrage of charm Quincy was piling on his head, nodded and mumbled, “If you’ll follow me?”
Quincy’s grin of victory faded as he took in the interior of the cavernous house. Though the place had been impressive from the street, he hadn’t expected such a behemoth to be hiding behind the elegant façade. They’d lived a comfortable life in Boston, yes. And he had not been a stranger to these places of wealth and excess in the past. But this put that all in the dust. Soaring ceilings painted with heavenly landscapes of cavorting cherubim basking in their divinity, black-and-white marble tiles glistening at his feet, the walls a buttery yellow and covered with all manner of paintings. He just managed to swallow down a chortle. Best to save his mirth for Peter, when it would annoy the most.
The butler stopped before a closed door. Instead of opening it, however, he looked at Quincy with a healthy dose of uncertainty. “Sir, if you would only let me introduce you—”
In answer, Quincy clapped the man on the shoulder, winked, and threw open the door. It hit the wall with a resounding thud as he strode within. “His Grace, the Duke of Dane, I presume,” he bellowed into the silence.
Peter, seated behind the desk, jumped a foot, nearly falling out of his chair before catching himself on the edge of his desk. “What the ever-loving…Quincy?”
He grinned. “Surprised to see me, old man?”
When Peter only sat there, mouth hanging comically open, eyes like saucers, Quincy laughed. “Damn, but that expression is worth delaying my travels. Now come and give me a proper greeting. I’ve missed you like the devil.”
Peter, it seemed, needed no further encouragement. He surged from his chair, a grin breaking over his face. Quincy barely had time to brace for impact before his friend’s bulk hit him like a veritable wave. The breath was knocked from his body, meaty arms surrounding him in a crushing embrace.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Peter exclaimed.
“Air!” Quincy managed.
Peter merely chuckled, squeezing a bit tighter—how was that even possible?—before releasing him. “When last I heard from you, you had just sold off the remaining business and were setting sail. What are you doing in England, man?”
Quincy grinned, the restlessness of the past year—no, he had been restless for much longer than that, hadn’t he?—beginning to ease. “I thought I’d visit with my dearest friend before starting my travels in earnest.”
Though Peter rolled his eyes, Quincy couldn’t fail to see the smile tugging on his lips. “I’m sure my charms pale in comparison with the wonders you’ll see. You must be ecstatic to finally be setting off.”
“You’ve no idea. If only my father had been alive to join me.” A vision of his father’s face swam up in his mind, that long-ago grief tempered by the distance of time, and by the knowledge that he was finally realizing their shared dream. He had worked hard over the years, surviving, building an empire to be proud of with Peter. Now, however, it was time to return to that promise he had made so long ago when leaving his family’s house.
He gave Peter a considering look. “You made a pretty penny in the liquidation of our assets. I don’t suppose I could ever tempt you into joining me, even for a short while?”
Peter grinned. “Not on your life. But I do plan on enjoying your company while you’re in town. How long before you start off?”
Quincy smiled, satisfaction coiling within him. “I’ve booked passage for Spain a fortnight from now.”