Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

L ady Lydia Brandon swept through Hyde Park, her steps quick but measured, her posture rigidly proper despite the panic rising in her chest. Her eyes darted frantically from side to side, searching for any sign of her wayward companion.

"Mug," she hissed under her breath, trying to keep her voice low enough not to attract attention. "Mug, where are you, you impossible creature?"

A group of fashionable ladies strolled past, their eyes raking over Lydia with barely concealed disdain. She felt their gazes like physical blows, noting the way their lips curled ever so slightly at the sight of her last season's gown and unfashionably simple hairstyle. Heat rose to her cheeks at once.

Lydia straightened her spine, forcing a placid smile onto her face as she nodded politely to the women. "Good morning, ladies. What a lovely day for a turn about the park."

Lady Amelia Worthington, the undisputed queen of the ton's social circle, raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Indeed, Lady Lydia. Though one would think you'd have better things to do with your time. Still no suitors on the horizon, I take it?"

The barb struck true, but Lydia refused to let her smile falter. "Oh, you know how it is, Lady Worthington. I'm simply being selective. After all, one can't rush into these things."

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but it was better than admitting the truth - that at five and twenty, with no serious prospects in sight, she was well on her way to permanent spinsterhood.

Lady Worthington's smile was razor-sharp. "Of course, dear. How... prudent of you. Well, we mustn't keep you from your... solitary constitutional."

As the ladies moved on, their tittering laughter floating back to her on the breeze, Lydia allowed her shoulders to slump ever so slightly. She knew what they thought of her - the plain, unremarkable daughter of Viscount Drowshire, who had failed to secure a match in her debut season and had been languishing on the edges of society ever since.

But she couldn't dwell on that now. She had to find Mug before he got himself into trouble. Again.

Lydia quickened her pace, her eyes scanning the verdant lawns and manicured flowerbeds. She was so focused on her search that she nearly collided with a gentleman rounding the corner of a hedge.

"Oh! I do beg your pardon, sir," she stammered, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

The man, a portly fellow with a kind face, waved off her apology. "Not at all, my dear. Are you quite alright? You seem rather distressed."

Lydia hesitated, weighing the impropriety of confiding in a stranger against her growing desperation. "I... I've lost my dog, you see. He's quite small, with rather scruffy fur. You haven't seen him, have you?"

The gentleman's brow furrowed in thought. "I'm afraid not, but I'll certainly keep an eye out. What's the little fellow's name?"

"Mug," Lydia replied, wincing slightly at the undignified moniker.

"Mug?" the man repeated, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Well, that's... certainly a unique name for a dog."

Lydia felt compelled to explain. "He has a rather... distinctive face. Rather like a squashed mug, you see. The name just sort of... stuck."

The gentleman chuckled good-naturedly. "I see. Well, best of luck in your search, my dear. I'm sure he'll turn up."

As he ambled away, Lydia resumed her search with renewed urgency. She could feel the weight of disapproving stares from the other parkgoers, no doubt scandalized by her unladylike behavior. A proper young woman didn't go chasing after dogs in public parks, after all.

But Mug was more than just a pet. He was her confidant, her companion, the one creature in all the world who loved her unconditionally. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him.

Just as she was about to give up hope, a familiar yapping reached her ears. Lydia's heart leapt, and she hurried towards the sound, propriety be damned.

She rounded a copse of trees and found herself in a secluded glade. There, to her immense relief, was Mug. But her joy quickly turned to horror as she realized what the little dog was barking at.

Two men stood in the clearing, both tall and imposing in their finely tailored coats. One was older, with graying hair and a nervous demeanor. The other...

Lydia felt her breath catch in her throat. Never before had she seen a man that… well, intimidating. While he was impossibly tall, his height was far less unnerving than the aura that radiated from him.

His dark hair fell in careless waves, framing a face that might have been handsome if not for the perpetual scowl etched upon it. His eyes, a startling shade of midnight blue, were fixed on Mug with a look of utter disdain.

Lydia crept closer, straining to hear their conversation without giving away her presence.

"...suitable in every way, Your Grace," the older man was saying, his voice placating. "From a respectable family, of marriageable age, and with a sizeable dowry. I really think you should consider-"

"I've told you, Figgins," the other man interrupted, his voice as cold and hard as steel. "I care not for the particulars. You know my expectations and you know which qualifications I expect of her. I have little regard for anything else. The only important thing is that she…"

But whatever he had been about to say was cut off by a renewed burst of frantic barking from Mug. The little dog had apparently decided he'd been ignored long enough and was now doing his level best to intimidate a man five times his size.

The taller man turned that icy glare on the small creature, his lip curling in disgust. "What," he growled, "is that?"

Lydia knew she could hide no longer. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped into the clearing. "I do beg your pardon, my lord," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "That would be my dog, Mug."

The man's gaze snapped to her, and Lydia felt as though she'd been struck by lightning. Those eyes... they seemed to see right through her, stripping away every careful facade she'd constructed.

"It is Your Grace. And your dog," he continued, his tone flat and unimpressed. "Is out of control. Do you make a habit of allowing your... pet... to run wild and accost innocent bystanders, Miss...?"

"Lady Lydia Brandon," she supplied, dropping into a hasty curtsy. "And no, Your Grace, I do not. Mug simply got away from me for a moment. I assure you, it won't happen again."

She moved to scoop up the still-barking Mug, but the little dog danced away from her grasp, seeming determined to continue his assault on the Duke's trouser leg.

"Mug, stop that this instant!" Lydia hissed, mortification burning in her cheeks.

The Duke's companion, whom Lydia now recognized as Mr. Figgins, a well-known solicitor, cleared his throat nervously. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion at another time, Your Grace?"

But the Duke ignored him, his attention still fixed on Lydia. "You should keep better control of your animals, Lady Lydia. It's most unbecoming for a lady of your station to be chasing after ill-mannered curs in public parks."

Lydia felt a spark of indignation flare in her chest. How dare he speak to her in such a manner? Duke or no, he had no right to be so rude.

"I assure you, Your Grace," she said, her chin lifting defiantly, "Mug is not ill-mannered. He is simply... protective. And I would thank you not to refer to him as a cur."

Something flickered in the Duke's eyes - surprise, perhaps, at her temerity. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same cold disdain.

"Protective?" he scoffed. "Of what, pray tell? Your nonexistent virtue?"

Lydia gasped, shock and outrage warring within her. "How dare you, sir! You know nothing about me or my virtue!"

"Nor do I care to," the Duke replied dismissively. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have far more important matters to attend to than arguing with spinsters in the park."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Lydia gaping in his wake. Mr. Figgins hurried after him, shooting an apologetic glance over his shoulder.

Mug, sensing his mistress's distress, finally abandoned his attack on the Duke's retreating figure and trotted back to Lydia's side. He looked up at her with adoring eyes, as if to say, "Don't worry, I scared him off for you."

Despite herself, Lydia felt a small smile tug at her lips. She scooped up the little dog, burying her face in his scruffy fur for a moment.

"Oh, Mug," she sighed. "What am I going to do with you? You've probably just ruined what little standing I had left in society."

As she slowly walked out of the park and to her carriage, Lydia couldn't shake the memory of those piercing blue eyes. There was no denial that the man was quite handsome and yet… irritation coursed through her. Arrogant, domineering, high-handed soul! He was frustrating - beyond belief.

As Lydia made her way home, her steps quick and purposeful, she couldn't shake the lingering anger and frustration from her encounter with the Duke. Mug, now safely ensconced in her arms, seemed blissfully unaware of the turmoil he had caused.

"You really must learn to behave, you know," she murmured to the little dog, who responded by licking her chin affectionately. "One of these days, your antics are going to land us both in serious trouble."

As she neared Drownshire House, Lydia's pace slowed. She was in no hurry to face her parents, knowing all too well the lecture that awaited her. No doubt news of her "unseemly" behavior in the park had already reached their ears. The ton's gossip network was nothing if not efficient.

Sure enough, as soon as she stepped through the door, she was accosted by her mother's shrill voice.

"Lydia! There you are, you impossible girl. What's this I hear about you making a spectacle of yourself in Hyde Park?"

Viscountess Drownshire swept into the foyer, her face a mask of disapproval. Lydia sighed, setting Mug down and straightening her posture.

"It was nothing, Mother," she said, striving for a casual tone. "Mug simply got away from me for a moment. I assure you, it won't happen again."

Her mother's eyes narrowed. "It had better not. Really, Lydia, at your age, you should know better. Running about in public like a hoyden, and in front of the Duke of Fyre, no less! What were you thinking?"

Lydia felt a fresh wave of irritation at the mention of the Duke. "I assure you, Mother, I had no intention of encountering His Grace. It was purely by chance-"

"Chance or not," her mother interrupted, "you've likely ruined what little prospect you had left of making a decent match. No gentleman of quality will want a wife who can't even control her own dog, let alone a household."

The words stung, but Lydia refused to let it show. She had long since grown accustomed to her mother's cutting remarks and constant disappointment.

"Yes, Mother," she said quietly. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll retire to my room for a bit. I have a bit of a headache coming on."

Without waiting for a response, Lydia hurried up the stairs, Mug trotting faithfully at her heels. Once safely ensconced in her bedchamber, she allowed herself to slump onto the window seat, burying her face in her hands.

"Oh, Mug," she sighed, as the little dog hopped up beside her and nuzzled her arm. "What are we going to do? I'm beginning to think Mother's right. I'll never find a husband at this rate."

As if in response, Mug let out a soft whine and rested his head on her lap. Lydia smiled despite herself, scratching behind his ears.

"At least I'll always have you, my faithful friend," she murmured. "Even if you do have a penchant for causing trouble."

As the afternoon light faded into evening, Lydia found her thoughts returning, unbidden, to the man she had seen in the park. His cold eyes, his cutting words, the way he had dismissed her so easily... it all made her blood boil.

And yet, there was something about him that intrigued her, despite her better judgment. Perhaps it was the brief flash of... something... she had seen in his eyes. Or perhaps it was simply the challenge he represented.

Whatever it was, Lydia knew one thing for certain - she had never met a man quite like him before and she was certain that she never would again. Never before had a man managed to make her blood boil in such an absolutely frustrating manner. And never would a man do so again, she promised herself.