Free Rake's Guide to Pleasure. by Victoria Dahl

Denmore took risks, she thrived on danger, she enjoyed confrontation. And the woman could turn a controlled duke into a sensualist with nothing more than a sigh. This was her gift. And Hart's weakness.
    But he dreamed of being transformed. Just for a few nights. Just enough decadent pleasure to see him through another ten years of responsibility. It would be worth it. . . if he could avoid a trap. God, it would be worth it.
    His role as duke was stifling, but he had taken it on with only a small amount of resentment. He'd had no choice after all, and he wasn't a child to whine and stomp his feet. As to any misgivings or rebellion . . . well, his father had shown him the value of discretion and respectability before he'd died, a lesson he'd imparted with his usual brutal efficiency. Easier to mold a man if you pounded him into mush first.
    And after his father had died, Hart had been left with duties to master, a sister to raise, social obligations to finesse, not to mention his commitments in the House of Lords and the constant, exhausting watch against mamas on the lucrative husband hunt.
    So his vague sense of misery had been easy to ignore, but something had changed. He'd grown older, or more miserable, or maybe it was simple solitude. His sister was no longer a joyful child, waiting for his return from London. She wasn't even a worrisome adolescent, sure to cause him trouble. She was a woman, married now, and far away.
    Hart was alone, isolated by his elevation, and no one seemed to understand anything about him, no one except a very suspicious young widow from the wilds of Cheshire.
    He stepped toward the shadow of an alleyway, and glanced down the gray length. A boy stood at the other end. He watched Hart without fear and didn't move when Hart stepped onto the wet stones. Instead, he crossed his arms and raised his chin a little higher.
    He was too small to be the thief from the other night, but that didn't mean he wasn't some sort of criminal.
    "You need sumpin '?" a wary voice demanded when Hart continued to approach.
    "Maybe." He stopped about ten feet from the child. "Why?"
    "I don't hire myself out if that's what ye're after."
    "Good God, no." He was sure he'd never been accused of the like. Hart shook his head. "Who do you work for?"
    The chin rose again. "No one."
    Hart glanced behind to be sure no one was sneaking up to crack open his skull. "Well, you're clearly selling something. What is it then?"
    "You're clearly buying. What is it?"
    An involuntary laugh choked Hart for a moment. Perhaps this boy had been trained by Lady Denmore in obstinance . "I need information," he finally conceded. The stubborn face brightened.
    "Why, that's my specialty, guv ."
    "Mm." Hart studied him, all bright eyes and scrawny limbs. His gloves were shiny with black grime and his coat was smeared with it. The local coal picker? The boot black she had spoken of?
    Well, he likely couldn't do much harm. "I saw a thief the other night, near Lady Denmore's door. Do you know who she is?"
    "Course."
    "Do you know who the thief was?" A quick shake of his head.
    "Well, I'd like to find out. I want to know if he comes back and what he's about. How much?"
    The bright eyes narrowed. "A quid."
    "A quid." Hart looked him up and down again before he dug into his pocket for two coins. "I may be fine and shiny, boy, but I'm no fool. A quid is far too much." The child's mouth fell open when Hart opened his hand. "Two quid, but that buys your dedication. I expect absolute loyalty, you understand? Will two pounds buy that?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "You're not to work for that thief or anyone else. If you see him again, you send a message. I want to encourage him to move on. At the least, find out who he is, who's working the area. Do you think you can do that?"
    "I can."
    "Well, then." Hart handed over the coins. "I'm Somerhart ."
    " Stimp ," the boy replied, either some sort of agreement or his name. Hard to say.
    "I'll be back tomorrow, but I'm on Grosvenor