The Love of a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #3)

The Love of a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #3)

Christi Caldwell



Chapter 1

London, England

Spring, 1815

The day Lady Imogen Isabel Moore had made her Come Out almost three Seasons ago, she’d taken the ton by storm.

Not, however for any reasons that were good.

One glass of lemonade held in trembling fingers, one graceless misstep and an inconveniently situated Lady Jersey in the hallowed halls of Almack’s had placed Imogen in polite Society’s focus. At the time, that glass of lemonade had proven the most disastrous moment of her then eighteen years. In a single night, she’d shocked polite Society…and also earned the attention of the gloriously handsome, Duke of Montrose.

With a sigh, Imogen glanced down at the copy of The Times.

The D of M, recently wedded had returned to London…

She skimmed the details of the article. Hopelessly in love. Devoted… Love at any cost… Imogen tossed the newspaper aside, where it landed with a thump upon the mahogany side table.

He’d returned. The gloriously handsome, golden duke with his glib tongue and winning smile and his black heart. And he’d returned with his wife—Imogen’s, younger by a year sister, Rosalind. Or, the Duchess of Montrose, as she was now properly titled.

“Never tell me you are melancholy again.”

A gasp escaped her and she spun around so quickly a blindingly bright, crimson curl slipped free of its chignon and tumbled over her eye. In a flurry of noisy, blue bombazine skirts, her mother swept into the room. “Mother,” she greeted with a weak smile for the parent who’d merely been happy that one of her daughters had secured the duke’s title. None of the rest had mattered. “I’m not melancholy,” she added as an afterthought. Egads. Her lips pulled in a grimace. That faithless, roguish duke she’d imagined herself in love with had turned her into one of those dreadfully miserable types to be around.

Mother came to a stop before her and wordlessly brushed the errant, hideously red curl back behind Imogen’s ear. Narrowing her eyes like a doddering lord in need of his monocle, she peered at Imogen.

Imogen drew back. “What is it?”

“I’m looking for tears. There are to be no tears. Your sister is happy and that should bring you happiness and….” Her mother launched into a familiar lecture; a nonsensical lesson on sibling loyalty expected of Imogen when her own sister had been anything but. “…you will take the ton by storm.” Those hopeful words brought her to the moment.

An inelegant snort escaped her, earning a hard frown from her mama. “I did take the ton by storm, Mother. Remember? There was the whole incident with the lemonade two,” nearly three, “years ago.” That defining moment which had brought the Duke of Montrose into her life and into her heart.

That blasted glass of lemonade.

Her mother waved a hand about. “Oh, do hush, Imogen. That is not the manner of storm to which I refer.” Alas, Mother had never been capable of detecting sarcasm. “You shall go to events and smile and find a gentleman.”

“I found a gentleman,” she took an unholy joy in pointing out. “The Du—”

“Would you have had him wed where his heart was not engaged?” That handful of words struck like a well-placed barb.

Ah, so her mother had become something of a romantic. “Indeed, not,” she squeezed out past tight lips. Greed for a duke tended to do that to a title-grasping mama.

“We shall find you a powerful, titled nobleman and then you shall be blissfully happy. Just as your sister.” Another well-placed mark. If her mother weren’t so very flighty, Imogen would have believed her words were intended with deliberate cruelty. A startled squeak escaped her as her mother claimed her cheeks in her hands and squished Imogen’s face. “I promise this shall be your last Season as an unwed lady. We shall see you attend all the most popular events and dance with all the most eligible bachelors.” All of which, sounded utterly dreadful. With a smile, her mother released Imogen and spun on her heel.

Her mind raced. Surely even her flighty mother knew that anything and everything the ton discussed would not be Imogen’s suitability as a match, but the scandal surrounding her name. “But—” Her protestation trailed off as her mother slipped from the room. From the corner of her eye, the open copy of The Times stared mockingly at her. With a curse unfit for most gentlemen’s ears, she swiped the newspaper and carried it over to the windowseat. As she claimed a seat, Imogen scoured the page for other poor souls who’d already earned the ton’s attention this Season.

Lord AE, the notorious Lord Alexander Edgerton, has taken up residence at his scandalous clubs and gaming hells.

Well, that was hardly news. She scoffed. Lord Alexander Edgerton, her dearest friend Chloe’s brother, had earned a reputation as quite the scapegrace. A rogue. A scoundrel. In short, another Duke of Montrose.

The young duke had, at one time, been an outrageous, scandalous gentleman most mamas would turn their noses up at. Until a distant relative had gone and died making him the unlikely new duke…and suddenly perfect marriageable material for all those protective mamas.

Imogen threw the paper aside once again and turned her attention to the window, studying the passersby below. There were certainly worse things than having your betrothed sever the contract just three days before the blessed wedding. It was a good deal harder finding those worse things when one’s betrothed broke your engagement—to marry your sister. Imogen desperately tried to call up those worse things.