Free Mad About the Duke by Elizabeth Boyle Page B

with their entourages of friends and companions and maids and footmen trailing behind them like the faint glimmering lights of a comet’s tail.
    So this is what they do during the day, he realized, keeping his eyes down and his hat pulled low so that no one would recognize him. Not that it was likely, wearing Jack’s coat as he was, or, for that matter, shopping.
    For the Duke of Parkerton never shopped. Not like other people.
    Richards handled all that, and when James needed to make a personal decision, the tradesmen came to him.
    But here were the multitudes of Society, parading about and going from shop to shop to make their own singular choices from the myriad of offerings—not just the chosen few that had been winnowed down for his discerning eye.
    Truly, it was rather fascinating, or so he thought.
    But into his curious ramble came an unpleasant voice bellowing from a nearby shop window.
    â€œDon’t stick your hoity-toity nose in the air at me …”
    The man’s foul tones sent nearby shoppers scurrying in a wide arc to avoid this detestable display of ill manners.
    James had heard enough, and that was even before he saw the object of this man’s displeasure. When he clapped his eyes on the lady bearing the brunt of this foul wrath, his vision glazed over with a red anger, and his fists curled into hard knots, like they never would have in the sawdust ring at Gentleman Jim’s.
    How dare this man…
    â€œA few nights in Newgate ought to remind you of where your obligations lay,” he was now yelling, having drawn the attention of passing carts and carriages. “And if that isn’t enough, then I’ll—”
    James stormed through the knot of curious onlookers and caught the fellow by the throat, cutting off his threats. With a strength and determination he didn’t know he possessed, he hoisted the man up until his toes wiggled in the air.
    â€œThen you’ll do what?” he demanded.
    â€œAaa-aa-ah!” the man chortled out, his fingers clutching and prying at James’s grasp.
    â€œI thought as much,” James said, shaking him a bit before he let go, allowing the man to fall to the ground.
    The man whirled around, his eyes bulging, his face red with rage, but he was a good head and a half shorter than James and had the looks of a toss-pot—given his ruddy complexion and bloodshot eyes. Butthat didn’t stop the fellow from spitting out, “How dare you! Do you know who I am?”
    â€œNo. And I don’t care to,” James told him, holding his shoulders taut and sending a withering glance down at the fellow. But he wasn’t in all his usual ducal glory, the finery that set him apart from mushrooms such as this, and this mean fellow wasn’t about to stand down.
    â€œI am Lord Lewis, and I do not take kindly to being roughed up on the streets. You’ll not get away with this,” he said, shaking his fist under James’s nose.
    Lewis? Ah, yes. Lady Standon’s wretched stepfather.
    Good heavens, now James realized why it was he rode in his carriage and didn’t walk about Town. Such low people there were to deal with!
    â€œMr. St. Maur, please, do not bother yourself,” Lady Standon said. “I can—”
    â€œShut up,” the man growled at her before he turned back to James. “As for you—”
    James had heard enough. He caught the man by the shoulder of his coat and tossed him into the street, where he came to rest in a pile of dung.
    A cheer rose up from the onlookers. With his cause lost for the time being, there wasn’t much the peevish little baron could do but stalk off in high dudgeons, pushed along by the jeers and taunts of the crowd.
    For a moment, James felt a perverse sense of satisfaction at his own outlandish behavior. He’d just tossed a man into the street! Like some sort of ruffian.
    And instead of being mortified for his gross behavior, an odd sort of