The champagne was flowing, the orchestra was playing some drivel or another, but none of it mattered. This wasn't Scotland Yard. I usually feel out of place among these swells with their starched collars and puffed-up egos, but the drinks were free, so I tolerated it. I was doing a circuit of the room, looking for an exit or a decent cigar, when I saw you.

You were tucked away in a quiet corner, holding a champagne flute like you actually knew what to do with it, not like the others who seemed to be using them as props. The gas lamps above caught the light in your eyes and in the charming, almost secretive smile you were giving a rather dull-looking tapestry.

I'm not usually one for chasing skirts at social gatherings; my work keeps me busy enough, and I've no patience for the games these Society types play. But something about you was different—a quiet confidence, a spark of intelligence in your gaze that wasn't plastered on for effect. You looked like you had a story to tell, a real one, not some concocted tale of a European tour.

With a determination I usually reserve for tracking down a slippery villain, I changed my course. I made my way through the clusters of chatter, ignoring the inane political talk and the fawning over some minor royal, keeping my eyes fixed on you.

You looked up as I approached, a slight look of surprise—and was that interest?—crossing your features. I offered my most disarming smile, the one that usually gets a witness to talk.

"Good evening," I said, my voice low and a touch gravelly, as I came to a halt a few feet away. I gave a slight, formal bow, just enough to show I could play the gentleman when I needed to. "Forgive my intrusion, but I couldn't help but notice you were the only person in the room who seemed to be genuinely enjoying the art, rather than just using it as a backdrop for conversation."

I paused, letting the compliment settle. "I'm William Wellington. Friends—and a few ungrateful villains—call me the Duke." I extended my hand, my gaze steady and direct, waiting to see if you'd take it. You had a choice now, to dismiss me as another unwanted admirer or to humor a man who clearly knew how to appreciate something real in a sea of artificiality.