It's been three weeks since Lord Davenport first encountered Lady Evelyn. Three weeks since she materialised out of thin air to saturate his world.

Had he tried to forget her, it would have been impossible, for she always turned up at the exact moments he managed not to think of her. He'd ride in the park, and there she was walking with the Warwicks. Stroll down a crowded boulevard, and there she would be. Alight from his coach, and who should come out of some shop across the way? At the theatre, he'd glance down from his box to see the top of her glossy hair. She was always in the company of the Warwicks, with no sign of the Elwood doppelganger.

From a safe distance, he studied her till he knew her every movement, every gesture. It delighted him to catch the occasional glint in her sparkling eyes, and it made him eager to see it again. Then, when their eyes met, as it always did, her smile would fade as her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. She was always the first to turn away. It amused and annoyed him. Then, he'd carry the alluring image of her with him till their next chance encounter.

Even when he didn't see her, she was on everyone's lips, no matter where he went. Such a pretty figure... Smile that radiated joy... Lord Davenport listened to each facile assessment with silent contempt. Yet, when someone disparaged her with some nit-picked flaw, he had to fight back a powerful urge to defend her. He took keen note no one mentioned seeing her with a young man resembling Percy Elwood, or any other young man for that matter.

To satisfy his curiosity, Lord Davenport made his own inquiries. It seems Mr Percy Elwood remained exiled somewhere in Italy as he had been for some time now. Nothing indicated that he had been back on these shores. Who was the man Lady Evelyn met with, then? What was their business with each other?

Luckily, Philip made no mention of Lady Evelyn since that fateful night. Pray, the next young lady who captures poor Philip's imagination, would be one of unquestionable virtue and known lineage. But, for now, his cousin seemed engrossed with the works of some new tradesmen friends. Philip was someone in desperate need of purpose. Perhaps, he might find inspiration in the company of these enterprising new men.

Of course, change came at a cost to stability. Each day more and more emigrated from God-knows-where. The vast numbers of the unwashed masses made the fine lords and ladies hold their noses as their paranoia grew. There was a general terror of more mob riots that might lead to bloodshed, as they'd witnessed across the channel not so long ago. These days, the difficulties of verifying every letter of introduction from some displaced foreign noble or long-lost relations made everyone wary of infiltration by bad actors.

These thoughts invariably brought the mysterious Lady Evelyn back to mind. Who was she? Where did she come from? And why did any of that mattered to him? Of course, deep down, he knew why. He knew why he hadn't stopped thinking about her from the moment they met. The memory of her soft curves pressed against him haunted him. This sort of fascination had but one cure.

" 'Momentary joy breeds endless pain; this hot desire will surely turn to cold disdain'," he reminded himself.

It's been two weeks since Lord Davenport received the latest missive from his father.

It arrived with the morning post. As always, his father's letter was terse, to the point, and a refrain of all his previous letters. It was time for his only living son to do his duty, take a wife and beget heirs. There's little time left to waste. The difference was, this time, his father threatened to select a wife for him by Season's end.

Lord Davenport let out a derisive snort, then winced as a sharp pain ripped across his skull-a painful reminder of the previous ill-spent night.

The prospect of marriage was neither appealing or unappealing. It must be done- one day. He preferred his father did not persist in reminding him of that duty. He'd prefer not to hear from his father at all.

"Sod it!"

The pain still pressing behind his eyes, he found pen and ink to write three words below his father's signature: "Do your worst!"

Lord Davenport handed the letter back to his valet with instructions for his coach to be readied. He needed air. He needed distractions. By the time he donned his hat, steady rain was falling. The cold, wet air calmed his heavy head somewhat. Before long, the coach headed towards the edge of where his world ended, and another began. Within these narrow cobbled streets, this world had a foul lingering stench over it. Yet, it or the rain seemed to phase any of the teeming bodies as they went about their business.

Several paused mid-stride to genuflect at the crested coach. He had tossed a handful of coins towards their outstretched palms when some feminine faces caught his attention. He pursued them till he came across one that was passably fresh. Wisps of coppery hair peeked out from beneath her water-logged bonnet. With two raps against the roof, the vehicle stopped, and the door swung open for her. The girl didn't hesitate to climb in and shut the door behind her.

No words pass between them. None were needed. The young woman's hands felt rough for one her age as she unfastened his trousers to free his cock. Her mouth, however, when she took hold of him, was hot, wet and inviting. He closed his eyes to sink back into the bench seat. The thundering and rattling inside his skull subsided as other sensations took over. She gagged as his length and girth grew, then rose on her knees to engulf the entirety of his shaft down her tight throat. Ah, she knew her business!

With a content sigh, Lord Davenport gave himself over to the bliss of the girl's mouth in the dark, thick warmth of the carriage. Behind his closed eyes, he imagined the girl at his feet had thick, dark locks and skin flawlessly milky. Those full, plump lips wrapped around him he envisioned were a shade of lewd pink. If he were to look down, would he see sparkling sapphire-blue eyes, as deep as the ocean and full of mirth?

He opened his eyes then, eager to see her-a mistake! The sight of a cheap little wet bonnet bobbing over him jerked him out of his fantasy. With a frustrated groan, he snatched the bonnet from her to thread his long fingers in her tangled curls before the moment passed. The girl knew her stuff, but he was no longer interested in her technique. Even so, she did her best to keep up with his tempo, till finally, she gave herself over to his use. It wasn't too long that he felt a familiar rush, and he exploded in a white-hot flash.

Then, there was just a numbing peace.

By the time the nameless girl, clutching the coins he had dropped in her palm, scurried out of his carriage, bonnet back on her head, the deep throbbing in his temples had returned.

His carriage left the muddy streets behind to return to familiar, wide and uncluttered lanes. Lord Davenport disembarked from the coach on a deserted corner and sent it home. A brisk walk in the icy drizzle ought to calm him.

At this early hour, none of his milieus would deign to be out. It freed him to wander about, uninterrupted, accompanied by his thoughts alone. He's been down these streets so many times it didn't register when the row of white marbled homes ended. It gave way to a wrought-iron fence that enclosed the grandest residence of all.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, a movement caught his attention.

He stopped.

Through the grates of the fence and the pouring rain, he watched a female figure, dressed from head to toe in black, alight from a hired carriage. The thick veil of her hat hid her face, and she moved so quickly, she soon disappeared into the house through a side entrance.

For a moment, his lordship forgot to breathe as the thundering in his temple intensified. It wasn't until the carriage rolled away towards the boulevard that he let out a ragged breath and eased the grip on his walking stick.

The lady may have disguised herself behind heavy netting, but he had studied that frame and bearing for these many weeks that he had no trouble recognising Lady Evelyn in an instant.

He stepped away from the fence to squint up at the palatial house against the grey sky. Rain cascaded from the brim of his hat down to his face. He knew this house. Its current occupant was none other than young Prince Edward.

Prince Edward?

Lord Davenport stood in the rain, a tall, still figure blending into the hedges that grew with the meters-long wrought iron fencing. So many thoughts raced through his head as he stood there. Assignations in the dark corners of society ballrooms. Now, this? There could only be but one purpose for any young woman, unmarried, unchaperoned, to enter a man's- no!--a prince's quarters.

"My, my, Lady Evelyn, how you've scaled the social ladder in such a short time," he muttered with a disdainful curl of his lips.

When Lord Davenport returned home later, his headache had disappeared. In fact, he felt lighter than he had in weeks.

Continue ....

[Author's Note: More sample chapters of Duplicity are available on Radish via @radish_fiction https://radishfiction.com/stories/15109! Try it now risk free!

But if you would like to own the complete ebook, it's available at select major online retailers. Check out all the ways to purchase here:
https://books2read.com/DuplicitybyCKendall]