Read The Duke's Tattoo: A Regency Romance of Love and Revenge, Though Not in That Order for Free Online

man of affairs.
    Fortunately, Sterling possessed a character as honorable as his name implied. What’s more, he had a savant’s memory for numbers and superhuman energy. Though overwhelming to the newly earnest duke, these unresolved matters were a fraction of the total paperwork relating to Maubrey holdings. Sterling had disposed of routine paperwork ever since Phillip’s passing. The issues that remained for the duke nevertheless required him to spend days on end sequestered in his study. Eventually even these resolved into neat piles of accounting ledgers and folded foolscap.
    This order came at no small cost to the duke.
    By temperament and long habit, Ainsworth was a man of action not contemplation. He liked to stay busy, physically busy. He lived for active verbs: riding, fighting, carousing, walking, drinking, fencing, boxing, whatever kept him in motion or well entertained. While engaged in such verbs, he was a happy fellow. Whereas, engaging in passive verbs made him miserable. The longer the duration of his inertia, the more he suffered. Thus, sitting at a desk, staring at documents till his eyeballs dried out and praying for an end to such drudgery made him peevish and restless. No wonder Phillip had been such a tetchy, dry stick! It was enough to make a man hie off to join a band of gypsies.
    Thanks to his solemn vow of diligence, however, poor, petulant Ainsworth could only relieve his boredom by participating in Polite Society. This was nearly as mind numbing as reviewing crop tallies. Standing around to be gawked at while making inane conversation was unadulterated torment. Only the dancing at balls and Almack’s gave him any pleasure but even then the silly ninnies he partnered insisted on conversing. Listening to the latest
on dit
caused him near fatal
ennui
. In ballrooms and assembly rooms, everyone buzzed about some randy halfwit dubbed the ‘Mayfair Stallion.’ One would think the coxcomb knew better than to make such a cake of himself. He paid no further heed to the whispers and giggles.
    After Lady Comstock, Ainsworth indulged in a number of brief liaisons. Each of these frolics was disturbed by a certain villainess, who materialized before his eyes at the worst possible moments. It was her he pleasured in the absolute darkness of an unfamiliar bedchamber. She who writhed in his arms. And it was into her body he thrust to find his own pleasure. The phantom female stalked his every aroused thought. Her blasted tattoo and her sudden apparitions left him as jumpy as a flea in a hot pan.
    The evil tattooist had much to answer for, for she had curtailed enjoyment of his favorite active verb.
    Meanwhile, Ainsworth completely misconstrued his growing popularity. Despite his lapses of concentration, each woman had been enthusiastic and appreciative in bed play. And each seemed more eager than the last to join him in it. He assumed they found his title appealing, not his scarred and battered person. It never occurred to him that word of his prowess had spread and these women wanted to ride the Mayfair Stallion astride.
    Ainsworth sensed things were seriously amiss before he learned the identity of the Mayfair Stallion. Some ladies had been subtle, others not at all. Though never a prude, even he was shocked how often he was rubbed up against and touched inappropriately at balls and musicales or had his thigh stroked under the table at private dinners. Finally, he saw a satirical illustration of the Maubrey coat of arms: A rampant lion faced the oak tree centered on a quartered shield of blue and white, while a ridiculously well-hung horse reared on the opposite side in place of the rampant stag.
    It stunned him.
He
was the thimble-witted Mayfair Stallion? His blood curdled.
    Now, though his loving cup runneth over, Ainsworth would not sip, much less drink deep to slack his thirst. Assignations lost their appeal. He took no one to bed, preferring to protect his privacy and what remained of his tattered