London, England

Christmas, 1806

On a snowy Christmas Eve, as the most elite ranks of the haut ton gathered at Darlington House in London's Mayfair district to usher in the twelve days of Christmas, an annoyed Duke of Darlington was across town, striding purposefully down King Street through a light dusting of snow, studying the light fans above town-house doors in search of the intertwined letters G and K.

He passed a group of revelers who called out "Happy Christmas!" That annoyed the duke, as they blocked the walkway and forced him to tip his hat and step around them before he continued his examination of every fan above every door in the line of tidy, respectable town homes.

He found the G and K on the last town house, a large red brick building. Quite nice, actually; the duke could not help but wonder what salacious little act the resident had performed to earn a house of this quality.

He stepped up to the door, lifted the brass knocker, rapped three times, and waited impatiently. He was in a very cross mood to be sure. He'd never been so exploited, so ill-used --

The door swung open and a gentleman of average height with a flat nose, a shock of ginger hair, and wearing a rumpled suit of clothing stood before him. He looked the duke directly in the eye and offered no greeting.

"The Duke of Darlington," the duke announced gruffly as he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a calling card. "I have come to call on Miss Bergeron. She is expecting me."

The man held out a silver tray. Darlington tossed his card onto it. "I'll tell her," the man said, and moved to shut the door.

But Darlington had been vexed beyond all civility; he quickly threw up a hand and blocked the door. "I'll w