‘The Most High, Noble and Potent Prince, His Grace Padraic, Duke of Waterford.’ After enduring the Ducal Grand Entrance, one might be forgiven for thinking that an evening could only improve. One would be wrong. Padraic was then duty bound to find an amiable miss to romance and dance attendance upon. In truth, the Duke was rather more partial to establishments that promised charms he would ne’er find in the arms of a Lady. Such dalliances did add a dash of decadence to his life of ducal drudgery, but time was tick-tocking and a blue-stocking bride must be wooed and wed… Raff of the Rookeries. The most afeared rake-hell to have haunted the highways since Darkin denied them the pleasure at the gallows by stepping off the ladder before they could whip it from beneath his feet. Raff had fought his way up to rule the roost with instincts as razor-sharp as his dirk. His sword skills, fists, and wily wits had stood him in good stead, but none had proved as invaluable as the weapon he’d ne’er had need to tend. His fury. A rage every bit as lethal as arsenic—deadlier than brawn, brains, or bravado—Raphael had carried it like a toxic plague. Until, he became Raff of the Rookeries. Unleashed upon the underworld, it was the most formidable foe in London. Two men from two different worlds…a mere few miles apart. That is, until the fateful night when The Duke was stopped in his tracks by a very Dandy Highwayman… An alternate cover version of ASIN B07K3MNLVD can be found here.

The Duke of Waterford has returned home in the wake of being snatched by the infamous Raff of the Rookeries and feared dead. It had appeared that he'd vanished without trace, save for a singular cocked hat found at the scene of the crime. Nevertheless, it transpires that Padraic, far too foxed to sit atop a horse, had become quite lost and spent the night in a barn, sleeping off his excesses. Apparently. The Duke himself? Is resigned to the fact that duty must be done. His thirtieth-year looms large and thus, the Potent Prince has a potential Duchess to woo, win, and wed. In the meantime, Padraic's misadventures have ensured that he is the talk of the Ton. Where better to brazen it out, than at a Grand Ball, hosted by the notorious gossip, Lady Melbourne? A crush at which his latest scrape would serve as ducal dish of the day, for those ever hungry for tittle-tattle. With nary a hope of getting his just deserts. From the dandiest of highwaymen out on the prowl…

Twelvemonth or more stalking a certain stretch of road had reaped far more than Raff of the Rookeries counted upon. Far more than Camillo could afford to want, need...love. Padraic. A man for whom the term Rum Duke might have been coined. As inimitable as he was impossible—for whom Raff had done the inconceivable—unmasked himself. He had not planned on revealing far too much for comfort; his jealously guarded sister, Lady Lotte Ferretti. Raff’s fears proved unfounded, but their ‘friendship’ survived his fury. Whether it could survive the scrutiny of Society and a law that made love a crime, was quite another story... Its plot? As incorrigible as the miscreant who cooked it up.