Her mother’s lively blue eyes took in their fine surroundings with enthusiasm. She sighed over every nattily dressed lord or lady, and cooed in delight at the spotted Dalmatian carriage dogs accompanying the grandest coaches.

Anthony, however, only had eyes for Charlotte.

It was he who had suggested a drive along the Ring for their barouche’s first outing. He who had agreed without hesitation when Charlotte had teasingly asked if she could take the reins. And now she had them.

It was exhilarating. Empowering. Terrifying. She wasn’t at all certain whether the horses were heeding her command or simply falling into step with the endless stream of carriages.

“Look,” her mother whispered. “A gentleman with a painted crest upon his coach has matched our pace, as if he wishes to speak with us.”

“I can’t look,” Charlotte said through gritted teeth as she clutched the reins. “I’m liable to careen right into him.”

Anthony tugged the reins from her white-knuckled hands and greeted the gentleman. “Good afternoon, Lambley.”

“Fairfax.” The duke inclined his head toward the ladies. “Mrs. Fairfax. Miss Devon.”

He drove off without another word.

Charlotte’s mother stared in shock. “Did a duke just publicly acknowledge us?”

“He probably ruined our reputations by doing so,” Anthony assured her. “We’re far more respectable than Lambley.”

Charlotte shook her head fondly.

Now that Anthony had finished repaying his gambling debts, he had no legal responsibility to keep his position as the night butler for the duke’s scandalous masquerades. He claimed he stayed on solely to relieve the duke of his money, but Charlotte rather suspected her husband enjoyed feeling useful. She certainly did. In certain circles, her name was the first to surface when someone was in need of good, sound advice.

“Fairfax!” A handsome gentleman with thick golden locks and a brilliant white smile rode up beside them on a black stallion.

“Lord Wainwright.” Anthony tipped his hat. “Heading to a ride on Rotten Row?”

“You must tell me who the divine creature was in the emerald dress,” Lord Wainwright said in hushed tones. “The one in the scarlet plumed mask with the diamond eyeholes. I am desperate.”

“I’m afraid I cannot help.” Anthony’s tone was firm. “You could consider speaking to the party’s host.”

Lord Wainwright rubbed the back of his neck. “He won’t tell me. He said you wouldn’t either, but I had to try.”

Before Anthony could respond, the handsome gentleman cantered off on his stallion.

“Who is Lord Wainwright?” Charlotte asked once the dust had settled behind him.

Anthony grimaced. “Do you remember when you asked me if I knew any scandalous dukes and earls? That is the rake I’m delighted you didn’t meet before you met me. That particular earl has cut quite a swath in the ballrooms—even the masked ones.”

She nestled into him. “When shall I be invited to attend one?”

“As long as Wainwright might be there?” Anthony clutched his chest in mock horror. “Never.”

“Charlotte,” her mother hissed, rapping her knee with a fan. “Charlotte, look. That crest belonged to the Duke of Courteland.”

As the coach-and-four passed, Charlotte realized one of the ladies inside the carriage was Lady Pettibone, her terrifying aunt. Their eyes met.

Charlotte tensed. Not being evicted should she appear at the lady’s private estate was not at all the same as being given leave to acknowledge their tenuous relationship in public. She held her breath.

Lady Pettibone inclined her head. “Mrs. Fairfax.”

The breath whooshed out of Charlotte’s lungs in relief. “Lady Pettibone. Lovely to see you.”

Lady Pettibone’s coach pulled farther ahead, and the ladies inside disappeared from view.

Charlotte’s mother looked at her in awe. “Lady Pettibone greeted you?”

Charlotte lifted a shoulder as if the uncertainty hadn’t very nearly stopped her heart.

The truth was…it didn’t matter. It had taken her all this time to realize that most of London’s inhabitants hadn’t the least idea who she was, much less were aware of the circumstances of her birth. Even her mother’s once-infamous face no longer raised many brows. Despite the size of this enormous city, Charlotte spent the majority of her time in relative anonymity.

She was just herself now: Mrs. Charlotte Fairfax. Giver of advice, and member of lively  book clubs. Now that Anthony was out of debt and they could afford to leave the city, she no longer desired to. She leaned her head against her husband’s strong shoulder in satisfaction.

He immediately wrapped his arm about her to hold her close.

Charlotte smiled contentedly. She had friends now. A much larger family. Nephews she couldn’t wait to spoil. A husband who adored her.

She had finally come home.

The End

Who is the mystery lady that handsome rake Lord Wainwright is desperate to unmask? Find out in Lord of Pleasure, the next full-length Rogues to Riches regency romance!

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Acknowledgements

As always, I could not have written this book without the invaluable support of my critique partners. Huge thanks go out to Morgan Edens for her advice, encouragement, and willingness to FaceTime at the drop of a hat to plotstorm with me. You are the best!

My deepest thanks also go to my editor, Jane Hammett, whose careful eye catches everything from typos to continuity goofs. Any mistakes are my own.

Lastly, I want to thank the Dukes of War facebook group and my fabulous street team, the Light-Skirts Brigade. Your enthusiasm makes the romance happen. I thought of you as I wrote this story. Thank you so much!

More from Erica Ridley

Thank You For Reading

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In order, the Rogues to Riches books are:

Lord of Chance

Lord of Pleasure

Lord of Night

Lord of Scandal

Lord of Vice

In order, the Dukes of War books are:

The Viscount’s Christmas Temptation

The Earl’s Defiant Wallflower

The Captain’s Bluestocking Mistress

The Major’s Faux Fiancée

The Brigadier’s Runaway Bride

The Pirate’s Tempting Stowaway

The Duke’s Accidental Wife

All I Want

Other Romance Novels by Erica Ridley:

Romancing the Rogue

Let It Snow

Dark Surrender

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About the Author

Erica Ridley learned to read when she was three, which was about the same time she decided to be an author when she grew up.

Now, she’s a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of historical romance novels. Her latest series, The Dukes of War, features roguish peers and dashing war heroes who return from battle only to be thrust into the splendor and madness of Regency England.

When not reading or writing romances, Erica can be found riding camels in Africa, zip-lining through rainforests in Central America, or getting hopelessly lost in the middle of Budapest.

For more information, please visit ericaridley.com.

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