Historical Romance: The Gentleman’s Law on Love A Duke's Game Regency Romance: Wardington Park, #7

chapter 1

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January 1828

Wardington, England

Hello, Mr. Elkin. Lady Rebecca Garrett’s voice was like a siren’s call to Neil Elkin. She purred, and her voice rubbed him in all the right ways.

But it made no sense that he was hearing it now in the middle of a party at Holden Hall, the Phelps’ country estate — a place she did not belong.

Not even the sound of the people chattering away in the dimly lit parlor could drown out her voice, just the touch of rasp sending his gut into flame. Nor could the smell of such sweets as pudding and éclairs hide her bewitching scent. She didn’t smell like honey or flowers like many of the other women of her rank. This lady’s scent was a maddening combination of fir and woman, a scent that called to Neil’s most basic makeup. He became almost primal when she was near, and he knew not why.

He braced himself and then turned to find Lady Rebecca Garrett smiling up at him in the same manner she had only two weeks ago, at his brother’s Christmas party. Her skin was as white as the finest marble, her hair such a pale blond it was almost white, and staring into her pale eyes was like stargazing. She was something to behold, and Neil was aware of the many male eyes upon her... just like he’d been at his brother’s party. The only difference now was her dress. It was white with just enough beading and lace to tempt a man to touch her.

Her smile grew, and Neil knew he’d been caught looking at her.

He sucked his teeth and groaned as he turned away. I must admit that I am surprised you are here at all. I warned you against following me.

Her smile spread, and his gaze was drawn to her mouth. I’m not following you. I’m following the story.

He lifted a brow at this. Oh, yes, you plan on writing a book about my clients.

And other things, she whispered in a way she had to know would drive him mad with intrigue he didn’t care to acknowledge. 

He silently wondered who’d taught the vixen to be so vexing.

She’d told him about her ambitions to write a book over a month ago, when they’d met at a dinner hosted by his brother. Lady Rebecca, who was a great fan of fiction and fantastical works— both of which, Neil abhorred— showed interest in accompanying him to meet his next client.

The Phelpses were known in London for their eccentricity, but whenever their name was brought into conversion, one could not discuss them without speaking of the Phelps’ Phantom. It was said that a ghost haunted their halls, as it had for years, but more recently, the ghost had told the couple, Ewan and Modesty Phelps, to leave  their estate in their will... and they were inclined to do so.

Neil had been called in by their three sons, Augustus, Loftus, and Cornelius, months ago, to make their parents see reason, but it was apparent that none of his knowledge of the law would help. Ewan and Modesty Phelps needed a head doctor.

And Neil needed a drink.

He took two glasses from a nearing server and gave Rebecca one. Anything to keep her from talking.

She didn’t take the hint.

Thank you, she said over the rim, smiling at him just as she’d done at the previous party. She knew very well what she was doing to him, and she sipped slowly.

Neil itched to throw his own glass back and track down a server for another. Or simply hoard the entire tray for himself. Surely, no one would blame him if they knew this maddening woman.  How’d you pull it off? Getting an invite. Do you know the Phelpses?

No. She stared up at him under heavy lashes.

He narrowed his eyes. Paid a servant to let you through the back door?

Rebecca shook her head.

Rebecca, a deep voice called.

She turned and smiled at the robust aging man who appeared. Oh, hello, Father, have you met Mr. Neil Elkin? He’s a solicitor.

Neil looked the dark-eyed man in the eyes and realized he was staring at the Earl of Hatchet. On his arm was a smiling woman who happened to be just as pale and beautiful, if older, as her daughter. He knew her. The Countess of Hatchet.

He bowed before the earl and his wife. A pleasure, my lord, ma’am.

Something warm played in the countess' eyes. He didn’t know her well enough to know if there was perhaps some joke going on or if she was simply a happy woman.

The earl did not smile, but he did not frown either. Elkin. Why is that name familiar?

Rebecca supplied the answer. He owns The Elk and The Concord.

Part-owner, Neil emphasized. He narrowed his eyes at Rebecca, wondering how she’d gained her information on him. Not many people knew that he was a part-owner of his brother’s clubs. Everyone just assumed they belonged to Guy, because Guy liked attention. Neil, on the other hand, liked papers and things that generally did not come with too many surprises.

Hatcher’s brow rose. The Elk? Much better establishment now that the women are gone. Even I’ve joined. 

Neil was shocked by his words, but looked around to find that neither the countess nor Rebecca even flinched. It appeared the earl was not one to mince words, which was good. Thank you, my lord.

But that is not where I recognize your name, is it? Hatcher asked. No, you’re Cartridge’s man.

Neil paused at the term the earl had used. The Earl of Cartridge currently held the position of Chief Magistrate and presided over The House of Lords. It was a mighty feat for a man so young and a progressive at that. Neil had met the earl, William, and his wife, Lady Jane, at a ball three years ago.

Neil had found himself discussing business with one man and slowly a group of some of the most powerful heads in London had appeared. When the subject had changed to politics, it had been easy for Neil to fade into the background. He hated politics and had been about to slip away when Cartridge had asked his opinion on the Judgement of Death Act.

Before the act, there had been over two hundred offenses in England that carried the death sentence. Many people thought this harsh, while many who’d only lived the most privileged of lives thought it sound. If a man was guilty of theft, he should swing, was the opinion of much of Society.

Neil, who usually cared for nothing when it came to the numerous acts and laws that were passed year by year had had a very strong opinion on that particular act and had told Cartridge, in the presence of the Ton, that he’d been very much for the new act.

This had caused some outrage in many of the men who’d been gathered, but not in Cartridge. Since that night, Neil and the earl had had many political discussions, Neil had been given a seat in the House of Commons, and now Cartridge wished him to become a magistrate.

Though Neil had made it known he wished for no such thing, he knew Cartridge had already begun to whisper his name in certain parties’ ears. Was Hatcher one of those men?

You’re Cartridge’s man.

Lord Cartridge and I are friends. Are you? Was the unspoken question.

Hatcher’s brow rose again. Cartridge is a fine man and the best thing that has happened to the House. We need more men like him about. The meaning was clear. Hatcher was indeed one of the men Cartridge had whispered his name to.

Indeed, Neil said, no longer wishing to discuss political ventures.

You should come by my residence when we’re back in session. Hatcher then turned to Rebecca. Well, your mother and I are going to Miss Feagan’s reading. Will you be there?

I wouldn’t miss it. And he was sure she wouldn’t. Many of the guests were quite anxious to attend. Miss Rose Feagan was one of London’s most famed writers. She’d just completed a suspense novel and had volunteered to do a reading of her work. There were few who were not excited about the prospect of hearing her read, but he had a feeling that Rebecca would be more captivated than most. After all, it had only been a month or so ago that she’d praised and defended another suspense author, Thomas Ludlow.

The earl spoke again. Don’t stay up too late. We leave at first light.

Yes, Father, Rebecca said, almost in the same purr she’d used on Neil, though the effect was different. While Rebecca’s voice always rocked Neil’s body to life, it seemed to sooth the earl.

A peace fell over his face and in his voice when he ushered his wife away.

Neil said his goodbyes and then looked at Rebecca. Your father knows the Phelpses. It wasn’t a question.

Rebecca was staring at him in her most seductive way before asking, Do you like my dress? She dropped her arms to her sides, as if exposing herself fully to him.

The question and the posture completely threw him off. Do I like her dress? Why did the question make him slightly dizzy? You’re leaving tomorrow.

Unless I can find a way to stay, she countered. You can help me with this, I’m sure.

No, he said. Actually, I’m looking forward to your departure. I’ll make arrangements to be up and on the staircase to wave you off when you leave.

She grinned. But how terribly you’ll miss me when I’m gone. 

He was thrown off once more by her words and that smile that pulled at his gut. He wondered if she simply lived to torment him. Does your father know the Phelpses?

She lifted a brow and then rolled her eyes before taking another sip of her champagne. Then, only after she was sure she’d tested his patience just enough, she said, My father knows many people.

Neil felt something inside him rise to a boiling point and knew it was time to finish this conversation. Well, hopefully he knows how to keep you on a leash. I’ll not have you interfering with my work.

The mention of leashing made Rebecca’s smile vanish and her eyes turn to stone. I’ll not interfere with your work so long as you don’t interfere with mine.

Which will be easy, since I have no interest in either you or your work, Neil said, reaching for another glass of champagne before meeting Rebecca’s cold eyes again. He’d shut her up, which he found to be very good for him. He even managed to grin when he said, Good evening, Lady Garrett, before leaving her amongst the crowd.

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chapter 2

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Rebecca Garrett watched Neil walk away and couldn’t stop her eyes from taking in every last inch of him in his dark suit. He moved with a power that was lacking in most gentlemen. Despite being a working-class man,  he seemed to have more self-assurance than most of the beau monde and this intrigued Rebecca to the point that she’d decided Neil would be the hero in her book.

This would be her first book with her own name printed upon it, but not her first book ever. For the last few years, Rebecca had assumed the name Thomas Ludlow, an exciting thrill chaser in London who crafted stories about the dwellers of their fair city, crafting endless tales with hints of fiction thrown in with truth. People were drawn to Ludlow’s writing like flies to fruit and they ate anything she served.

Everyone, of course, but men like Neil, who lacked the essential tools to grasp what imagination was.

She watched as he stopped to talk to a group of men and her eyes traveled his wide shoulders, lean waist, and muscled thighs. Then her gaze returned to the strong neck and lush auburn hair that he always wore slicked away from his face, which was quite different from the carelessly cared for ruffled look that men of Society usually sported. Everything about Neil said he liked order, which was probably the reason Rebecca bothered him so much.

She’d met Neil only once before in passing, but one thing had quickly become clear. She and Neil were nothing alike. He was straitlaced, while Rebecca quietly rebelled against everything, including the dutiful task of marrying someone her father picked out for her. And yet, with their differences, Rebecca found herself more than attracted to the solicitor... and knew him to be attracted to her as well.

She turned her mind from their mutual undeniable interest in one another and focused on her writer’s brain, focusing on Neil in a way one would look at a painting.

He was a very easy subject to study.

She thought of Miss Feagan as she did so. As one who knew her intimately, Rebecca was quite confident that the woman would be pleased that Rebecca was able to channel her thoughts of attraction back to work. The woman, though known to possess much charm, could be very cold and calculating when it came to success, and she’d taught Rebecca how to be just as successful in a gentlemen’s world.

Though, Rebecca had never done anything to the extent of Miss Feagan. When Feagan investigated, she held back nothing of herself, including her body, using what she called ‘every tool a woman possessed’ to get what she wanted. Rebecca saw her point. The world was an unfair one, but there were simply some things that Rebecca could not do and that was one of them... even when there was a very beautiful man standing before her who she had the feeling held the key that would unlock just as much victory as defeat.

Was she willing to place herself in his hands simply for the chance to solve the mystery of the Phelps’ Phantom? Tying herself to him could possibly give her the opportunity to stay.

But she shook the thought from her head as quickly as it came. She’d find another way. 

As if feeling her eyes, he turned to meet her gaze and then glared.

Her grin broadened when he excused himself from the other men and started her way.

His imposing body was very near when he whispered, Why are you watching me?

Guess, she dared under hooded eyes.

His golden eyes roamed her face and his breathing came rushed. She loved his reaction to her. Other men had found her attractive, but it was as though Rebecca solely held the reins to Neil’s desire and this pleased her.

He narrowed his eyes. What do you want from me?

An introduction would be lovely, she said, glancing around his shoulder to the three men in the circle Neil had left. They were the Phelps’ brothers. My father already introduced me to their parents, charming couple, Modesty and Ewan, but if I’m to write a very good story, I need to know all the characters. And she knew that for many readers— the female half— a description of the men alone would be appealing.

All three were various heights and ages, but equally handsome. 

Neil didn’t even turn to look in the direction she’d glanced, but something flickered in his eyes before he said, No.

Rebecca glanced around him once more and then grinned. Think they’d steer my attention away from you?

Neil said nothing.

Rebecca smiled. Don’t fear on that account. I’m all yours, she said teasingly. It was fun to tease men; she’d found that out early with Miss Feagan’s teachings. For the life of a woman, especially that of the daughter of an earl, much dullness awaited her. So, she supposed, if she had to endure being a woman, she’d do it in the liveliest fashion, and that meant pestering Neil now and again.

Plus, she needed him more than anyone else if she was going to write the story she wished to write. He was her main character; they should at least be friends. Come now, Mr. Elkin. There’s no reason we can’t work together. Introductions will only take a moment of your time and then you may go back to saving the world.

The solicitor’s eyes darkened, a strong mixture of desire and annoyance. Flattery will get you nowhere with me.

Rebecca sighed. Well, I think that’s not up to you anymore. It seems they are heading this way.

Neil cursed and was forced to turn and watch the three men make their way toward them.

Rebecca took a step closer to Neil, thinking that she couldn’t have planned this better. Fate was on her side.

The men all stopped to give pleasantries to Rebecca, but it was obvious that only one man was truly interested in making her acquaintance. Even before Neil said his name, she knew all the men and probably details about their life that they wished no one to know.

The youngest brother and the one gazing at Rebecca as though she were the last woman on Earth was Cornelius. He had the brightest blue eyes Rebecca had ever seen, with classically ruffled blond hair, a straight nose, delicate chin, and pleasant smile.

My lady, he said as he took her hand and placed a kiss on the gloved back. May I say just how stunning you are.

Rebecca’s entire demeanor had changed since the Phelpses had approached, and she didn’t so much as smile at him as she looked at him in awe. It was a look that she knew would make her look innocent... and stupid, a look she’d used so many times before to gain information for her stories. It worked on men every time. Thank you, she said with false hesitation.

She felt Neil stiffen beside her and held back her grin.

The other two men did not compliment Rebecca at all, which made sense from what she knew. Cornelius Phelps was the rake of the family, bedding everything from farmers’ daughters to barmaid, and with his looks, he’d have been dangerous at a London season. Thankfully, the Phelpses were not known to do the season. Instead, they traveled much of the time. Their expertise was exports in and out of England, an endeavor that had made them one of the wealthiest, though most elusive, families in England.

The second son, Loftus Phelps, was the one who oversaw their overseas operations. He and his wife, Sally, spent long periods of time in India, though more recently, they’d both settled back into the family estate. That was when the phantom issues had begun.

And then there was the eldest. Augustus Phelps. He was the odd one of the family in every way. Unlike the rest of the Phelps, who were all blond-haired with blue eyes, Augustus was taller than the rest, casting a large shadow that seemed to swallow the floor beneath him.

Broad of shoulder and chest, he was also the only member of his family to have dark hair and even darker eyes. Rebecca would not have called him a very conventionally handsome man; his eyes were set far back in his face and the sculpting of his bones was so defined that it was almost frightening. He looked like a villain without any effort, but there was something about him that she was sure appealed to women everywhere.

The way Augustus carried himself made him appear as though he were capable