How to Wed a Baron by Kasey Michaels Page B

Duke of Ashurst. But even those friendships hadn’t softened society’s condemnation of him. The three days he’d spent at his town house had been enough to convince him that he had rushed his reentry into Society, and he had taken himself off again, prepared to await the following spring season before trying again.
    Now he was back, only two months passing between a nearly universal cut direct from those who had eight years earlier called themselves his friends and tonight’s very visible acceptance by the Prince Regent—all part of the bargain they had struck.
    Justin could hear the whispers, even as he could not make out the words. When he bowed his way back from the prince, it would be to see those same people who had judged him, had shunned him, now taking their cue from the prince and rushing up as if they were delighted to see him again.
    And he could, in return, be delighted to see them, allow himself to be brought back into favor. Even as he cursed them all for sycophants and fools, while also cursing himself for ever believing this life was the one he wanted, the life he’d sacrificed so much to regain.
    â€œA word in your ear, sir?” Justin suggested quietly. “You may frown as you lead me off, as if preparing to give me one last stern scold before welcoming meback into the fold of sheep standing all about us now, breathlessly anticipating your reaction and ready to take their cue from you.”
    â€œDamn you, what are you up to, Wilde? Where’s the gel?” the Prince Regent asked sotto voce as he allowed two footmen to help him to his feet. He pointed toward a door off in a corner, and Justin fell into step directly beside him, in just the way George Brummell had dared to do, as if declaring them not only friends, but equals. Oh, this would add to his consequence; being so publicly taken off for a private coze with the heir to the throne. How Prinny must hate that. “What are you doing here, Wilde? It was to be tomorrow night, at Covent Garden.”
    â€œWhat? And miss this delightful gathering?” Justin responded lightly, insinuating his arm through the prince’s crooked elbow, knowing the man had no choice but to allow the intimacy. “Imagine my delight, sir, when I returned to London and espied the invitation waiting for me on my desk.”
    He refrained from mentioning that the invitation had served to remove the problem of how to break into Carleton House at four in the morning and somehow make it past the guards.
    â€œOne of my fool secretaries must have already added you back to my invitation list. You shouldn’t be on that list yet, not until you’re bracketed with the gel. It was a mistake.”
    â€œI wondered as much. But then I thought, my,how can I resist? After all, the wish of our Royal Highness can be nothing less than my command. I fair flew through my toilette, I tell you—taking only a miserly three hours to make myself presentable—and then hastened straight here. Please forgive my tardy and doubtless disheveled appearance. Although my man, Wigglesworth, persists in telling me that this waistcoat flatters me no end.”
    â€œHumph,” the Prince Regent responded, which was as good as a compliment on Justin’s attire, combined with a curse that His Royal Highness would never see a waistcoat so fine himself…or be able to see past it to his toes, either, come to that.
    They’d entered the anteroom now, and Justin carefully first shut, then locked the door, deftly pocketing the key.
    â€œThe gel?” the prince said without preamble. “Where the devil is the gel? Did you forget her on the docks? Can’t you get the straight of anything, Wilde? She’s supposed to be with you.”
    Justin’s smile never wavered. It was the sort of smile that could make a guilty man feel the sudden need to find a quick exit. “You mean, sir, where is the daughter of one Lady Anne Louise