Miss Cleopatra Lewis is about to be launched in society by her aristocratic grandfather. But since she has no intention of marrying, she visits a costume emporium specifically to order unflattering dresses guaranteed to put off any prospective suitors. Powerful and charismatic Jacob Astor Addison is in London, acquiring businesses to add to his theatrical holdings in America—as well as buying an emerald for a young lady back in Boston. He’s furious when a she-devil masquerading as an English lady steals Quimby’s Costume Emporium from under his nose.

After being jilted, Margaret Stredwick has sworn off men and marriage. What she needs is a holiday. But a detour along the way takes a surprising turn that leads Meg to him. And soon she starts to wonder if she should indulge in one grand flirtation before she’s firmly on the shelf. The instant Lucien Ambrose, Duke of Merleton, finds a strange woman touring the halls of his ancient estate, he knows the minx is up to something. So, when a family heirloom is stolen, it’s clear who the culprit is.

The last thing Amelia Kennington wants is to participate in the London Season. But the daughter of a duke is not afforded such opinions. She must put forth a subdued facade, but beneath it is a well-hidden fire that surfaces only when provoked—such as when an overly familiar gentleman startles her and she falls into the Serpentine.

Evie Harlow is quite content running the quaint little bookshop she inherited from her father…or so she convinces herself anyway. It might not bring in much money, it's not very exciting, and it's not a very good way to meet eligible men, but Evie's always thought she was destined for spinsterhood, a dull life, and hard work.

All of London gossips about the Duke of Montrose. A recluse. Inflicted with a terrible disease. A gargoyle with a terrible temper. But he's also the most important patron of the centuries-old book shop that belongs to Miss Elizabeth Sharpe's family. Now she's been charged with delivering books to the Gargoyle of London herself—or risk their shop falling into ruin. But surely a duke can't be that ghastly . . .