by Gaelen Foley
Where the Prometheans actually were, only the Order knew.
Mrs. Fisher had also vanished, and the elite agents who’d been working with Azrael had likewise withdrawn from their lives for secrecy’s sake. Azrael had told them that if he could ever be of help to the Order on Promethean matters, they had only to call on him.
Serena dearly hoped they never did.
As for her erstwhile Order footmen, Porter was still recovering from being shot in the leg, but Brody and the big driver, Roy, had been left behind to guard her and Azrael for a while longer, in case of any possible retaliation by unseen enemies connected to Stiver’s group. This was only a precaution, however.
From what she understood, any other Promethean cells operating in England had gone to ground. She suspected that the many who’d been captured that night were providing the Crown’s secret warriors with all sorts of useful information.
Azrael suddenly glanced toward the door. “Sounds like our breakfast is coming. I’m hungry.”
“Well, we must feed you, then. After you open your present.”
Hearing the service cart rolling down the hallway, Serena was already on her feet and crossing to the door when the footman knocked. She answered it and nodded cheerfully to him.
The servant rolled the breakfast cart as far as the doorway. Serena pulled it the rest of the way into the room herself, but was far more interested in the gaily decorated box Grimsley was holding.
It was about the size of a hatbox, and the lid was tied on with a big red bow.
“Thank you, Grimsley. I’ll be with you soon to talk about how the staff’s preparations are going for tonight. But first, I must give His Grace this wee trifle.”
“Good luck, Your Grace,” Grimsley whispered.
She gave the old butler a conspiratorial wink, then nudged the door shut with a bare toe and hurried back to their bed, carefully concealing the shifting weight inside the box by the steady way she carried it.
“You got me a hat?”
“Maybe.”
“What are you up to, woman?” Azrael inquired, scanning her face with his most piercing gaze.
“Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
And more importantly, it’s going to love you back, she thought, but didn’t say so aloud. She had to surprise him.
She set the box on the bed and slid it toward him. “I really didn’t mean to give it to you quite yet, but it was delivered yesterday, and there was no way to conceal it from you for long.”
“Hmm. I am altogether intrigued.”
“Just—leave the box on the bed when you open it. I don’t want you to get any advance clues.”
He furrowed his brow. “Very well.”
Playing along, he sat up with the gold satin coverlet swathed around his waist.
As he slowly untied the bow, a strange sound came from inside the box.
A muffled yip.
Azrael glanced at her, perplexed.
Serena stifled a laugh, waiting with bated breath for him to lift the lid.
Uncertainly, he moved the ends of the ribbon aside, but before he could open the box, the lid started nudging itself upward.
And a little black nose poked out.
“Serena…?”
She burst out laughing as he took off the lid, then reached into the box, and discovered that the fuzzy, wriggling gift inside required both hands to lift.
With a look on his face that she’d never forget, Azrael pulled his present out of the tissue paper lining the box and held it up by its furry, wriggling waist, staring at it.
“You got me a puppy?”
He started laughing in disbelief.
She lifted her hand and let the puppy prop its hind paws on her palm. “Isn’t he precious? This is Franklin! He’s a Westie.”
“I can’t believe it.”
He stared at the cheerful white puppy dangling from his grasp.
All of ten weeks old, Franklin panted as he stared back at Azrael, his fuzzy hair sticking out in all directions, his little wisp of a tail wagging at top speed, his tiny paws kicking with eagerness to get down and play.
Azrael cradled the pup against his chest. “How do you do, Franklin?”
Serena tried to read his reaction, but Azrael’s head was down as he held the tiny terrier in his arms.
She couldn’t hold back. “When you told me you never had a puppy in your whole life… Well, I know how sad you’ve been since Raja had to go back to the menagerie after what happened. And I just thought, since everything is new in your life now—since it’s time to try new things—why not give him a normal pet? One we don’t have to worry about. One that will actually fetch, with the proper training.”
He looked up. “It fetches?”
She gave his shoulder a shove. “Not yet, silly, he’s just a baby. And he’s not an it, he’s a he. But he’s smart. I’ll bet you can easily train him to fetch when he’s older. Isn’t he darling?”
He nodded, head down, his gaze fixed on the pup.
“Well? What do you think?”
He scratched Franklin under the chin for a moment, then gave Serena a besotted grin. “I love him.”
“Me too!” She clapped her hands triumphantly at his response. “You can take him everywhere with you, little as he is. He won’t get much bigger than my cat, Wesley. You can walk him in the park and bring him to the country whenever we go. And when we have children, he’ll be perfectly safe with them. For all we know, he might even be a good little guard dog, too.”
“He’s perfect, and you are the most thoughtful, precious, kind, lovely, caring wife that any man could ever hope to win.” He gazed at her as he held the new arrival. “Serena, every day I’m grateful and stunned to wake up and discover it wasn’t a dream—that this is our life now, and you’re really mine.”
“Oh Azrael, I am. And I always will be.” She reached out and cupped his face. “It’s easy to love you. You’re more than my husband. You are my best friend.”
He released the puppy to pull Serena into his embrace and began to kiss her, easing her back onto the mattress. As she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his tender kisses, she felt him tugging open the cloth belt of her dressing gown. He slipped a warm, smooth hand inside the silk, caressing her curves.
But the puppy, who had been digging in the blankets and attacking the tassels adorning the headboard pillows, decided then to wage a merry war on the duvet.
Grabbing the edge of Azrael’s blanket between his teeth, Franklin started backing up with it, shaking his head, letting out adorable little growls, until suddenly, he tugged the blanket off Azrael entirely, displaying the Duke of Rivenwood in all his naked splendor.
“Excuse me!” His Grace exclaimed, laughing.
“Good boy!” Serena cheered, blocking the pup with her arm from falling off the bed.
Azrael sighed and covered himself from the waist down again. “I suppose that’s Franklin’s way of telling us it’s time to wake up.”
“And quite right he is. We’ve got a very busy day ahead, getting ready for our gathering.”
Azrael smiled at her and raked his fingers through his hair. Serena rose and scooped Franklin into her arms, gave him a kiss on his fuzzy head, then put the wee pup down on the floor.
At once, he went scampering off to investigate his new surroundings. Azrael rose and pulled on his blue silk dressing gown.
Serena’s heart was aglow as she went over to the breakfast cart. She could not have been more pleased by the success of her gift. “Chocolate or tea this morning, love?”
They looked at each other and both said: “Chocolate.”
She smiled at him, removed the lid from the ceramic decanter, stirred it with a knife, and then poured them each a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
While she put the lid back on, she glanced over and watched her husband playing with his ankle-high puppy like the boy he’d never been allowed to be in his childhood, and her heart clenched with love.
When the pup made a mad dash toward the French doors, where some unknown trifle had captured his attention, Azrael followed.
“Hey, you little nutter, come back here.” He captured the dog and picked him up. “You want to see the view?”
He paused to look out at the glistening winter’s day.
Serena was captivated, admiring his elegantly muscled silhouette against the French doors, with the snowy world beyond.
“Look at that.” He pointed out the window. “Someone’s moving in down the street. Appears we’re getting a new neighbor.”
“Oh? Which house?”
“On the corner.”
“Really? One of the ducal mansions?” Intrigued, she joined him there, bringing him his chocolate as well as her own.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said, puppy in one hand, hot chocolate in the other. He gestured with his cup out the window toward the right.
“Aha,” she said, peering out at the busy prospect of servants unloading furniture from a wagon. “Well, they must’ve finally tracked down the old duke’s next heir.”
Azrael looked at her in question, and she remembered that he still didn’t know many of the neighbors around the square, nor did he follow the local gossip.
“The old Duke of Amberley died…I should think it’s been five years ago now. But the title’s changed hands two or three times since. Dreadful bad luck. The heirs keep dying.” She shrugged, then looked out the window. “I wonder who it went to this time. Probably a distant relative by now.”
“Well, whoever the chap is, perhaps we should invite him to the party. ’Tis the neighborly thing to do, right?”
Serena turned to him. “Why, that’s a splendid idea, darling. Thank you for suggesting it. I will send a servant over with an invitation. He might not come, but yes, we’ll let the new duke know he’s welcome to join us if he likes. That’s very thoughtful of you.”
He looked pleased that she’d praised his idea, but privately, Serena couldn’t help smiling with affection. Whatever happened to my loner?
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She caressed him. “Come. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.” She bustled away to fix their plates.
“You heard the lady, little fellow.” Azrael set the puppy down, and Franklin immediately scampered after Serena, trying to catch the hem of her dressing gown wafting out behind her.
“Naughty!” she scolded, laughing.
“He takes after you, I see,” Azrael said.
“Ha!”
He collected the puppy so she could ready their plates, but he continued to tease her, as was his wont.
No matter.
She teased him right back, and neither of them minded a bit, for any day that started with kisses and banter was a good day indeed.
AUTHOR NOTE
Weird stories were told of the fabulously rich and brilliant Sir Francis Dashwood. He’d had a vast system of caves dug in a cliff near his estate at West Wycombe, some thirty-three miles northwest of London, and villagers passing the entrance late at night told of seeing strange figures dressed in red robes dragging screaming girls into the black entrance. But no one liked to complain, because Sir Francis was such a pleasant gentleman.
Daniel P. Mannix, The Hellfire Club
Evil in high places was as much a feature of bygone eras as it so often is today.
As Daniel P. Mannix writes in his 1961 classic, The Hellfire Club (reissued in 2001 by ibooks, inc.) was “an association dedicated to Black Magic, sexual orgies, and political conspiracies. The club included among its members the Prime Minister of England, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Lord Mayor of London, the first Lord of the Admiralty, the son of the Archbishop of Canterbury, several of England’s greatest artist and poets, the Prince of Wales, and even Benjamin Franklin.”
The implications are rather terrifying once you start digging into it, past the familiar protestations that it was all in good fun. If you are interested in researching historical secret societies and the world of elite conspiracies—insofar as they can be researched—I definitely recommend the Mannix book.
I should mention while touching upon this topic that the original inspiration for this book came about as an offshoot from my Inferno Club series. A few of the Inferno Club agents put in cameo appearances in the story you just read, so by now, you know the gist of what they’re all about.
When they’re not falling madly in love with their heroines, they are hunting “Promethean” bad guys for the Crown. (If you missed this series, you may like to check out the first Inferno Club book, My Wicked Marquess.)
My original intention in devising the Prometheans was to concoct a set of villains worthy of taking on heroes who are at the top of the food chain in Regency England’s pecking order.
A story, in some ways, is only as strong as its villain, and you need a VERY strong villain to seriously challenge a hero who’s already got everything going for him: rank, power, fortune, the best education money can buy, physical strength, loyal friends and connections, etc. So I came up with the Prometheans as worthy opponents for my tumultuous Inferno boys.
The Prometheans, in turn, are modeled after the infamous “Illuminati.” Yes, the pyramid-obsessed, left-eye covering Luciferian freemason sect who were first exposed to the world when one of their couriers was struck dead by a lightning-bolt. Although it is said that both horse and rider were charred, oddly enough, the saddle bags were unscathed; inside them were found secret messages and papers detailing the conspirators’ plans for world domination, starting with an uprising against the Hapsburgs.
Arrests followed and warnings were sent out to world leaders, including George Washington, who discussed his worries about the Illuminati’s infiltration in his letters (available online, thanks to the Library of Congress. See Washington’s letter to G.W. Snyder, 1798).
So. That is how the Prometheans came about. Although the Inferno Club series was completed in 2014, somewhere along the way, one of my readers put the darnedest idea into my head. She remarked (with an embarrassed giggle) that she found one of the Promethean assassins sexy. “Is that wrong?” she teased.
Hey, whatever floats your boat. *g* But it got me thinking. Wow, wouldn’t it be cool if there was one good guy who’d had the great misfortune of being born into a sinister Promethean family?
Duke of Secrets finally gave me the chance to let Azrael out of his cage.
Moving on, one extremely interesting research topic that I wanted to mention for the history buffs out there with regard to this story is the fascinating, prehistoric barrows all over the British Isles.
These are so abundant that I marvel we don’t run across them more often in Regency romances. There are over 6000 of them in the West Country alone, according to an article on Britain Express that I’m sure you’ll enjoy. (See www.britainexpress.com/history/prehistoric_monuments.)
Different types of barrows and earthworks (and of course, henges) were built across Great Britain by a succession of prehistoric peoples from as early as 3500 B.C. The type of barrow mound I envisioned for Owlswick was most commonly built during the Bronze and Iron Ages, but then began to reappear during the Dark Ages, which ranged from 410 A.D., the end of Roman Britain, till 1066, the Norman invasion.
Regency people were as fascinated by the mysterious mounds in their midst as we are today. Many mounds were broken into during the centuries, but intact sites are still regularly found. Indeed, one of the most spectacular of them all was not opened until 1939, Sutton Hoo in Suffolk. When archeologists finally peeked inside, they discovered the tomb, treasure—and buried ship!—of an Anglo-Saxon king, Redwald of East Anglia, who died in about 625 A.D.
(If you’re interested, do an image search for Sutton Hoo, and prepare to be dazzled by the artistry of these ancient Anglo-Saxons.)
One final historical note concerns Richmond House, overlooking the Thames. The gentle reader, I hope, will forgive me for taking a slight liberty (twenty-five years long,
to be exact) with Richmond House, the location of the Bonfire Night ball in this story.
Richmond House existed exactly as described up until 1791, when it was destroyed by a fire. Rebuilding commenced in 1822. The reason I decided to include it anyway and pretend, just between us, that it was still there in 1816 is because Regency fans have so often run across references to the famous Waterloo ball given by the Duchess of Richmond in Brussels.
You know the one—where half the gentleman had to run out of the ballroom oh-so-dramatically to go and fight Napoleon’s approaching forces. Yet we never hear much about the 4th Duke and Duchess of Richmond themselves beyond that one historical footnote, despite them being quite interesting people.
Well, now you’ve gotten the chance to see at least a little glimpse of what had been the London house of the Richmond dukes before it burned down. (If you’d like a recap of what happened at this famous ball, I recommend this great article with pictures at www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofBritain/The-Duchess-of-Richmonds-Ball/)
Another reason I chose this location was because of its association with fireworks. FYI, London fireworks often happen on the river. Richmond House, overlooking the Thames, was famous for the fireworks display given by His Grace, the second Duke of Richmond, to celebrate the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle in 1749. Classical music buffs will be tickled to hear that this fireworks extravaganza was accompanied by one of the first performances of Handel’s Music for the Royal Fireworks.
Well! I am always amazed at the fun facts I get to learn as I’m writing my novels, and I hope you enjoy my passing them along to you. In closing, let me say thank you once more for reading my books, and I hope you’ll join me again on my next excursion back to Moonlight Square.
Sincerely,
Gaelen
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