Vice

Prologue

“I do not have such a piece at present, Your Grace."

"I didn't imagine you would, madam. But I assume you could procure one." Tarquin, third Duke of Redmayne, bent to inhale the fragrance of a rose in a deep bowl on the table at his side.

"Such specific requirements will not be simple to furnish," Mrs. Dennison mused from behind her painted fan.

A smile flickered over the duke's lean countenance. "You and Mr. Dennison will find the reward matches the effort, Elizabeth."

His hostess glanced over her fan and her eyes twinkled "La, Duke, you know how I hate to discuss terms… so vulgar."

"Very vulgar," he agreed smoothly. "However, it must be the genuine article, madam. I have no interest in counterfeit maidenhead, however fresh the piece might appear."

Elizabeth Dennison looked wounded. "How could you suggest such a thing, Your Grace?"

The duke's smile broadened, but he shook his head slightly and drew a lapis lazuli snuffbox from the deep pocket of his full-skirted velvet coat. There was silence in the sunny parlor as he took a leisurely pinch, closed the box, and replaced it before dusting his nose with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.

"Is the piece to be for Your Grace's own use, may I ask?" the lady inquired a trifle hesitantly. One could never be certain with the Duke of Redmayne where he drew the line between useful inquiry and impertinence.

"You may assume when you go about the search that she will be for my exclusive use." The duke rose to his feet. "That way we can be certain she will meet the most exacting of standards."

"I trust you will find that all of our ladies meet the highest standards, sir." There was a note of reproof in her voice as Mistress Dennison rose in a rustle of silk. "My husband and I pride ourselves on the quality of our house." She pulled the bell rope.

"Had I believed otherwise, Elizabeth, I wouldn't have sought your help," the duke said gently, picking up his gloves and cane from the console table

Mistress Dennison looked somewhat mollified. "I shall put inquiries in train immediately. You; Grace."

"Keep me informed of your progress I give you good day, madam." Her visitor bowed courteously, but there was a glint in his hooded gray eyes that his hostess, sweeping him a low curtsy, found vaguely discomfiting. But it was a familiar sensation when doing business with the Duke of Redmayne, and she was not alone in feeling it.

She turned with an assumption of brisk assurance to the flunky who'd appeared in answer to the bell. "His Grace is leaving."

"Madam, your most obedient…," the duke murmured with another bow. He followed the flunky from the room, into the hall. There was a hush over the house in the sunlit morning, the maids creeping about their business as if anxious not to disturb the sleepers above stairs-those whose business was conducted at night and who too-well-earned rest in the daylight.

The smile faded from Mistress Dennison's countenance as the door closed behind her visitor. The duke's commission would not be easy to fulfill. A piece still in possession of her maidenhood, who could be coerced into obeying the duke's dictates.

Virgins could be discovered easily enough… innocent country girls arriving friendless in the big city were ten a penny. But one who would have a reason to agree to the duke's dictates…

And not the dictates customary in this kind of contract, as the duke had been at pains to emphasize. He wanted no common whore, because he had a most uncommon use for her. He hadn't elaborated on that use.

Elizabeth Dennison shrugged her plump, creamy shoulders. She would put the situation to Richard. Her husband and business partner could be relied upon to come up with a plan of campaign. One didn't disoblige a client as wealthy and powerful as Tarquin, Duke of Redmayne.