Prologue

“They make a lovely couple.”

Henrietta Stanton, daughter of the Earl of Crawford, followed her friend’s gaze to the couple whirling about the dance floor—the center of attention.

As well they should be, given that they were the ton’s newest darlings, newly betrothed only a day past: the recently affianced Earl of Cheswick, and his Lady-to-be.

“They are quite a picture,” she agreed. Her gaze wandered to the folk mingling about the edges of the room, taking notes on positions. Whose eyes were following whom, and who was well on their own way to a relationship, as opposed to those who could do with some encouragement. Or gentle discouragement, in some cases.

For all her fondness of the dance floor, it was there, among those watching, that she truly thrived.

“And they look so happy.” Her compatriot of the evening, Eva Darnell, the daughter of a Baron, folded her arms and sighed, bringing her attention back to the couple of the hour.

“Well, they should be.” Henrietta smiled. “You know I would never make a bad match, my dear.”

If there was one thing Henrietta prided herself on, it was her matchmaking skills. Only three years past her first Season, she had become one of the leading matchmakers in high society, and she’d kept the title since. She had a gift, if she were to be immodest, a talent even, for bringing together individuals in successful relationships.

Lord Cheswick and his Lady-to-be were only the latest examples of her meddling, and quite the well-done match if she were to say so herself. Her dance card had the Earl’s name for later in the evening, but she was quite content to wait, more pleased to witness the proof of her triumph than to make her congratulations.

Eva sighed again, her pink petalled lips pursed in a gentle pout. “You do make such good matches, Henrietta. I wish you could make one for me. I’d love to dance like that with a man who loves me.” Her cerulean eyes were wistful as she watched the newly formed couple laughing, the Earl twirling his lady in the middle of the floor.

“I’d no idea you were of the inclination.” Henrietta pursed her lips, considering what she knew of the eligible members of the ton her friend had allowed to dance attendance on her in the past. “What type of man are you seeking?”

Eva blinked, turning her attention away from the floor for the first time that evening. “I beg your pardon?”

Henrietta gave her friend an indulgent smile. “Well, darling, I am the best matchmaker in London. Pick a man, any man. And I will see to it that you have your heart’s desire.”

“Oh, you cannot be serious.” Eva flushed prettily, unfolding her fan to hide the crimson tint that even her expertly applied powders could not conceal on her cheeks.

“But I can.” Henrietta gestured to the throng of glittering persons, the ton dressed in their best evening dress for the party. “’Tis the Season, my dear Eva, a perfect time for putting my skills to use. You have only to tell me who you have your eye set upon.”

Eva’s lips pursed. “Anyone, you say, Henrietta?”

“Anyone. So long as you don’t choose someone completely unsuitable, like your father’s oldest stable hand or some such nonsense.” They both giggled. The stable hand in question was old enough to be Eva’s father himself, and he was quite happily married with his own family, not to mention the other unsuitable facets of his station and temperament.

“Anyone…” Eva tapped her fan to her rose-petal lips, thinking. Then a small mischievous smile bloomed across her face. “Including, perhaps, The Dark Prince?”

“The Dark— You cannot mean the Marquess of Salisbury?” Henrietta raised one dark, well-groomed eyebrow in disbelief. “The one who was announced in London’s pages some months ago, when the old Marquess of Salisbury died? The nephew no one had ever heard of?”

“—or has seen since. They say he’s been in seclusion since he took up the title.”

“Indeed. I had heard something about that.” Henrietta tapped her own fan against her chin, thinking. “He was at war on the Continent, was he not?”

“Yes.”

“And he certainly did not present himself to attend the Season. Caused quite the upset among the ton.” She remembered it clearly. Such a prominent member of the peerage refusing proper introductions for weeks on end… Well, there had been little talk of much else but his scandal.

“Just so. They say he declared he was recovering from the war, and so refused to set any sort of social calendar. Rumor has it that he has not left his country seat, but he has refused any and all invitations or callers. People call him ‘The Dark Prince’, for he is rumored to be fairly melancholy as well as reclusive, though quite well-off.” Eva’s smile widened, a laughing challenge lighting her eyes and banishing any hint of her earlier discontent. “But suppose someone were to want to win his regard. Would you undertake the matchmaking for such a pairing?”

“Well…” Henrietta considered what little she knew of the man whose seclusion had been the source of so much rumor at the beginning of the Season. “He is rumored to be handsome, or so I heard from Lady JoSarah, whose husband went to give the Marquess his greetings and welcomes back to our shores.”

“Yes. Indeed. Hair like the midnight sky and eyes the color of the emeralds, so she said.”

“And I have heard that he has been seen in town on occasion, overseeing purchases and business for his estate. It is rumored he cuts quite the dashing figure. Well-built, and with reasonably good taste in attire.”

Eva flushed again, maidenly modesty coming to the fore. “So I have heard as well.”

“And he is rumored to be of an artistic inclination.”

“Oh, that is no rumor. Do you recall the sculpture newly purchased by Lady Devonshire? The angel in her garden?”

“I do. Was that one of his making?” Henrietta blinked, recalling the statue in question.

It was a beautiful statue. She had seen it herself in the lady’s garden but a week past—one of the first garden parties of the Season. Every fold of marble cloth and every line had been painstakingly and exquisitely chiseled, polished to a glistening luster. The face of the angel was a study in tranquility, serene and majestic and beautiful as it gazed across the expanse of the Devonshire estates, hands outstretched in welcome and protection, wings spread wide as if about to take flight, every feather arduously rendered. “It is quite a magnificent piece.”

“Isn’t it? I have heard that all his artworks, though he hasn’t made many, are the same. Beautiful, soulful. Poetry in stone.”

“That is quite a feat. I must wonder…” Henrietta trailed off.

“Henrietta!” Eva chided her softly and tapped her arm lightly in remonstrance. “You cannot simply fall silent like that. Whatever is on your mind to make you quiet?”

“Lord Salisbury has only lately returned from war, has he not? It begs the question, how does a man pass from the horrors of the battlefield, and come to create such amazing artistic works? One would think that his experiences would influence his art as much as they have apparently influenced his sociability.”

“That is true. I had not thought of that. Artists are supposed to be such sensitive creatures.” Eva furrowed her brow. “To come through the blood and ugliness of a battlefield, and yet still be able to produce such elegance…the Marquess must surely have a soul to match his fortitude in both valor and beauty.”

“He would be a rare man indeed to possess such sensitivity and courage both. A true paragon of nobility.” Henrietta considered her next move. She knew very little of the man beyond rumor, but what little she did know was quite…interesting.

“Paragon indeed. And a pity too.” Eva sighed forlornly.

“Pity? Whatever do you mean?” Henrietta regarded her friend in mild astonishment.

“Henrietta dear, a paragon the Marquess may be, but if it’s so, I think even your best efforts would be doomed to fail. Paragons are simply not the marrying sort. And if he is a paragon, and he were to choose a partner to share his life, I doubt it would be a young, lighthearted lady of the ton. Why, what could two such people ever have in common?”

“Who can say? But there’s no reason to dismiss the idea out of hand, dear Eva.” Henrietta smiled. “Love is a powerful connection. And you know quite well that I, of all people, know how to bring love to bloom between two people, dissimilar as they might seem at first.”

Eva laughed, the cheerful tones drawing the attention of other members of the ton nearby. “Why, Henrietta, surely you cannot be suggesting that you could bring the Marquess to consider matrimony, and among the members of our fair society, no less! Why, the man is near a hermit, however handsome and talented he might be. Even your prowess cannot work with a man who refuses to grace any events and has no social calendar worth mentioning!”

“Can it not? Are you truly doubting my skills as a matchmaker, Eva?” Henrietta swatted playfully at her friend with her fan in mock annoyance.

“Well, let us be realistic, my dear. There are limits to even the best matchmaker’s skills.” Eva’s smile sparkled with mischief. “You must admit that, at least.”

“I’ll admit to no such thing! Why should I admit to a defeat without even a token effort?” Henrietta tipped her head. “Why, I will wager that, should I put my mind to it, I could have the Marquess matched and married within the Season.”

“Within the Season, you say?” Eva arched one perfectly shaped brow in mild disbelief.

“Within three months.” Henrietta tossed her head and straightened her back, quite willing to defend her skills and her reputation. “I’m certain I could achieve such a feat in three months, for I’ve managed other matches in far less time.”

“Oh? And what will the forfeit be, should you fail to find the Marquess his match within three months?”

Henrietta smirked. “Why, what else should I wager? This is meant to be a test of my skills as a matchmaker, no? Why then, should I bet anything other than my ability to continue to use my skills?”

Eva blinked, sly mischief transforming to genuine surprise. “You cannot mean…”

“I can.” Henrietta stood, pitching her voice so that it would be heard by the members of the ton nearby, all of whom were trying to listen without being transparent about it. “Should I fail to match the Marquess of Salisbury within three months, I shall resign my position as a matchmaker in society—and retire from any further attempts to arrange matches of any sort.”

Ripples of sound whispered through the room, and Henrietta smiled behind her fan.

It was a bold statement, to be sure, but then…love was a power that conquered all.

And hers was a power that was well-versed in reading and manipulating the paths of love. Truth be told, she rather relished the challenge.

Now it only remained to choose the method by which she might approach this most reclusive and mysterious Marquess.

 

Chapter One

He never would get used to the weather, nor the food. It had been four months since he had come to the Salisbury country seat to claim his inheritance and his title. And Daniel Thynne, the Marquess of Salisbury, still found it within himself to be amazed by the differences between the blood-soaked insanity of the battlefield he’d left behind and the refined, tranquil estate he currently inhabited.

“This is quite the arrangement you’ve got here.” Daniel tore his attention from his wayward thoughts and returned it to his guests.

Jackson Fisher and his wife, Patricia. He and Jackson had met during the war, fighting side by side in the heat and horror of the battlefield. Months of saving each other and commiserating over awful rations and guarding each other’s fitful sleep had made them firm friends.

Jackson had only returned home a few months prior, following an injury that had left a permanent scar on his face…and the illness that followed. He was still pale and far too thin, his tailored clothing slightly loose on his powerful frame, but the intervening time between his return and Daniel’s invitation to visit the estate, as well as his recent marriage, had brought some sparkle to his eye and some color to his cheeks.

Jackson chuckled and lifted a glass of the chilled wine they’d been enjoying with their leisurely lunch. “From a lowly lieutenant to a Marquess…you truly do have the best of luck, my Lord Salisbury.”

“Says the man who only recently took the title Duke Merriweather, Your Grace.” Daniel tipped his head in a teasing bow.

“At least I anticipated the title would come to me. But call me that again, and I shall have a quote for the society pages, from my good friend, the Lord Marquess of Salisbury, the next event I attend.”

“Do not dare.” Daniel shook his head. “Enough of that, Jackson, or we shall wind up having more heated words between us. In any case, I’ll not have my brother-in-arms use a title I never knew I was to inherit until a scant few months ago. A man ought not demand formalities of the fellow who half a year ago was wrapping his ribs after an ill-met encounter with a musket shot.”

“Says the man who dragged me through a half-mile of pouring rain in the dark after our horses were shot out from under us.”

“Enough of that sort of talk as well. Men and your war stories…I’ve no stomach for such talk,” Patricia scolded gently as she rose to refill their glasses, her movements quick and graceful as she poured out the wine. “You are both home now, and home you’ll stay. Leave such talk to other times, I beg you. The day is far too fine to spoil with words of war and wounds.”

“You have me there, Duchess.” Daniel dipped his head in a nod, conceding the point with good humor. “It is indeed a fine day, too fine to be darkened by these memories.”

He was preparing to ask Jackson how he found married life when a discreet knock at the door interrupted. Moments later his butler, Walter Danvers, stepped through the door with a low bow. “I beg your pardon for my intrusion, my lord, however…” The butler’s neatly trimmed mustache quivered with suppressed humor, well mixed with exasperation. “I’m afraid we have another…unexpected visitor.”

“Another? And how old is this one?” Daniel sighed and repressed the urge to slouch.

“I would estimate that she is perhaps of sixteen years. Apparently, her carriage has broken down, and she is quite beside herself and in dire need of Your Lordship’s assistance.” There was no mistaking the humor in Danvers’ carefully respectful tones.

“I suppose that is better than the thirteen-year-old.” Daniel sighed again. His gaze flickered over his two guests, both watching him with mildly inquiring glances.

Etiquette would demand that he excuse himself to see to his newest guest and attend to her comfort. Of course, given the situation…

A thought occurred to him, and he smirked. “Very well, Danvers. See the young lady into the front parlor. Have the staff bring out another place setting—no, best to make it two, I suppose. Since the young lady is in such dire straits, she is most certainly in need of a good meal to soothe her anxiety. It would be remiss of me to forbid her hospitality, since we have plenty of luncheon left to us and no pressing plans.” He turned to Jackson. “I trust you have no objections to a fourth, or fifth, at our table?”

“No. Of course not. It is only courteous, as you say.” Jackson inclined his head in answer. “Besides, a fourth will give us even numbers at the table.”

“Very good, my lord. I shall take care of the matter.” Danvers stepped back, shutting the door respectfully behind him.

Daniel huffed out a rueful laugh. “It appears we shall have unexpected company this afternoon.”

“It sounds as if you have become somewhat resigned to unexpected company.” Jackson’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Are we to take it that these interruptions are somewhat frequent?”

“Near indecently so. This one will be the fourth this week.” Daniel twirled his glass between his fingers with a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“The fourth! What the deuce…”

“I am England’s newest member of the peerage, which supposedly makes of me a most attractive target for young women whose families wish them to marry well.” He grimaced. “It is why I was set on avoiding the Season this year. I had hoped if I made myself less available, I might come to welcome fewer interruptions.”

“That seems not to be the case, if this is as frequent an occurrence as you say.”

“Oh, it is.” Daniel gestured to where the footmen were diligently laying out two place settings. “I’ll wager I can tell you exactly what is going to happen. The young lady will come in, distraught and ready to fling herself upon my person for comfort. Only to be placed at a loss because she did not anticipate your presence. And then, within the half-hour, her ‘brother’ will arrive, ready to defend her virtue and demand I make proper recompense for taking advantage of her distress, said proper recompense being an offer of matrimony to protect her honor.”

“You cannot be serious!” Jackson was clutching hard at the arm of his chair, nearly doubled over with laughter, while Patricia hid a gentle giggle behind her napkin. “It cannot be so bad as all that, surely?”

“A half-crown on the matter.” Daniel fished a coin from his trouser pocket and slapped it on the table.

“I’ll not bet coin. Rather one of your good wines,” Jackson fired back.

“Done then. A bottle of wine against some of those excellent cigars you carry.” Daniel pocketed the coin and sat back just as light footsteps sounded beyond the door.

The door opened, but no sooner had it been pulled back than a young woman dashed into the dining area, golden hair artfully tousled, dress hanging fetchingly off of one shoulder. “Oh, my lord, the most terrible…” She stopped short, her wide, brown eyes taking in not one, but three faces around the table.

Daniel rose smoothly from his seat. “My lady, you are welcome to join us in our repast. I dare say you have need of some refreshment.”

“I…thank you, my lord…” She paused, studying his features.

Daniel sighed inwardly. Had the girl not even possessed the forethought to ensure she could recognize her target? “Forgive me. I am Daniel Thynne, lord of this house. And you are, my lady?”

“Catherine Britmoore, my lord.” She flushed and dipped into a curtsy, finally remembering the manners she’d probably thought she’d not need for this encounter.

Britmoore was not a name associated with any of the peerage. He had done his due diligence on that front, so as to avoid giving insult unnecessarily. He dipped his head in a shallow nod, all that was required of him. “Miss Britmoore, it pleases me to introduce you to my friends, the Duke and Duchess of Merriweather.” He waited until she gave each of them a greeting, then pulled out a chair. “I’m afraid your unexpected arrival has caught us at our luncheon, but please, join us and tell us more about what brings you to my door.” Though I daresay I already know.

            “Oh…yes, thank you…” She settled awkwardly in her chair, clearly uncomfortable. He stuffed down a bubble of satisfaction and politely passed her the platters from which to fill her plate. She took a few bites from each, though it was clear to all that food was not on her mind. She paid as little attention to the small measure of wine he poured for her.

“You were saying, when you entered, that something had happened?”

“Oh…oh, yes! It really was most distressing. My carriage…a wheel cracked and almost caused a frightful accident.”

“That is unfortunate. But surely a young lady like yourself is not traveling alone?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Miss Britmoore flushed, fingers tangling about her silverware. “It is only that my escort…well, when we saw your estate, he suggested that I come ahead to plead for your aid, while he returned to see that the horses did not bolt or come to mischief.”

“Of course. Quite sensible.” Hardly that. A proper gentleman would have escorted his lady to the door, and made the request himself, rather than send a maid unaccompanied among strangers. “You did tell my butler, I presume?”

“I-I believe so…”

“Then we have but to wait while my men gather the necessary supplies. It is likely to take some time. So please, do refresh yourself while my servants see to the matter.” He watched her lips assume a soft pouting expression no doubt meant to make him feel obliged to do more.

Jackson was turning a peculiar color in an effort to look appropriately sympathetic, and Patricia kept her gaze lowered, though he could see her lips quivering with the effort to refrain from a most unladylike expression of amusement—or expressing a sentiment that was entirely inappropriate to the supposed situation.

Silence fell, all four of them pretending some occupation with their meals. Daniel counted the minutes in his head, watching the girl from the corner of his eye as he chewed absentmindedly at the remains of the salad on his plate.

The clock was nearing twenty minutes since Miss Britmoore’s arrival, and he was about ready to take some form of action, be it polite or not, when a strident voice shattered the uneasy stillness of the dining hall. Seconds later, the door to the dining room flew open and a young man in riding clothes stormed through. “Lord Salisbury! Fie on you for taking advantage of my sister’s distress and having your way with her. I’ll see you do honorably by her, or have you publicly branded the worst sort of…of…”

The young man stopped, eyes widening comically at the sight of not two, but four people sitting calmly around a table, still set with the dishes of a most excellent meal. “I…”

Daniel rose again. “I am the Marquess of Salisbury.” The young fool was a good two inches shorter than he and almost thin enough to be called a stripling, for all he was old enough to shave. “And who might you be?”

The young man’s answer was interrupted by the soprano tones of Miss Britmoore. “Andrew! I told you to wait for at least half an hour!”

“Now see here…”

“Silence.” Daniel stepped forward. Both parties stopped and looked at him. Andrew, whom he presumed to be properly Mr. Andrew Britmoore, the expected brother, flushed violently. “Am I to gather, then, that this young man is your escort, Miss Britmoore?”

“Y-yes. My brother, Mr. Britmoore.” The young lady at least had the grace to blush and turn her gaze to the polished wooden floor.

“And am I to further presume that you are not the victims of an unfortunate happenstance upon the road?”

“Indeed.”

“I see. And yet, your brother bid fair to come into my home and accuse me of dishonorable dealings…dealings which, if I read them aright, would be impossible in a setting such as this, but which you intended to claim I had initiated. After which you would force me to defend my reputation by taking Miss Britmoore to the altar?”

Both siblings had the good sense to color further and keep silent. Daniel fought to keep his expression suitably stoic. “I think, Miss Britmoore, that you and your brother have quite outstayed your welcome. I would ask you to see yourselves out.”

The response was two hurried nods. Andrew Britmoore turned on his heel and strode down the hall as fast as the battered remnants of his dignity would permit, his sister trailing behind him in morose silence.

Daniel sank back into his chair with a huff. “Of all the…”

“Only half an hour?” Jackson’s amused voice broke him out of the mood that threatened to snatch him up. “My word, what have you done to make them think so little of your prowess, Thynne?”

Daniel snorted, his good cheer returning in the face of Jackson’s cheerfully impudent observation. “If the sheets are to be believed, I am as reclusive as a monk, and most likely chaste as one.”

Danvers chose that moment to return, his gaze sweeping the table. “My lord? Your guests have left already?”

“They have.”

“Such precipitous departure. Is another place setting required for the young lady’s father, perhaps?” Beneath the butler’s suave tones ran the same amused tones that colored Jackson’s, and Daniel surrendered to them, sinking fully into his seat with a laugh.

‘There’s no need of that, Danvers. I doubt Miss Britmoore and her brother, if such he is, had the wit to think of such a ruse, given that they had not even taken the time to be sure they knew what I looked like. It is unlikely we’ll see any more of them.”

“Very good sir.” Danvers withdrew.

Jackson sighed dramatically. “Well, then. I suppose it’s a case of my good cigars I owe you.” He rose. “And on that note, I fear it is time and past time for us to be returning home. The nights are still chill enough that I should not wish to be on the road too long after dark.”

“No. You are right at that.” With regret, he rang for the servants to clear away the dishes, while he escorted them to the door. Danvers and the footmen brought their traveling cloaks and hats, while the stable hands brought the small two-person trap around. “I wish you a safe journey home, my friend. And please do come to visit me again sometime in the near future.”

“I shall, now that the weather is becoming more appropriate for travel.” Jackson handed his wife into her seat, then clasped Daniel’s hand briefly before swinging up himself. “I shall bring the promised cigars on my next visit. In the meantime,” he drawled, his eye glittering with humor, “I do hope you have no more damsels in distress and their overbearing siblings knocking on your door.”

“You and I both, though I fear it shall not cease for some time yet.” Daniel smiled ruefully as he stepped back to give Jackson’s conveyance some room. “Go well.”

“And keep safe.” Jackson touched his cap, then flicked the reins to set the horses in motion.

Daniel watched as the vehicle clattered out of sight, then turned and made his way inside. “I believe I shall retire to my workroom for the remainder of the day. Please see to it that I am not disturbed.” Danvers nodded and glided away, leaving him to continue on to what had once been a small sunroom, now converted into his private workroom.

Heavy cloths of canvas covered the floor, and a long oaken table held an assortment of tools. In one corner, an easel held a well-worn sketchbook. And in the center of the room…

In the center of the room stood his latest labor, a glistening block of pale veined marble near his own height and some inches wider. Rough-hewn edges, broken free with the chisel that lay to one side, showed where the top of the block had given way to a more oval shape.

He circled the stone carefully, absently rolling up his sleeves and loosening his cravat, before donning a heavy canvas smock to keep the marble dust off his clothing. His hair was yet short enough that it required no management, though if he did not have it cut soon, he would be in need of a tie to keep it from his face.

Twice he orbited the heavy block before reaching out to grasp the chisel. Then he set it back down with a sigh, rubbing absently at his brow.

It’s not much use, to call myself an artist when I cannot even see the shapes I want within the stone. I suppose it is all the distractions of late. He flicked his gaze over the marble again. God’s breath, but I should not mind such distractions knocking upon my door, if only they brought inspiration with them!

 

Chapter Two

            Henrietta twirled, drinking her reflection from the mirror, frowning thoughtfully.

It had taken a full week and a great deal of thought, but she was rather proud of the plan she had concocted to engage with the elusive ‘Dark Prince’. It was, she felt, a ruse absolutely certain to capture his attention. But it needed the proper touches, and the proper costume, if she were to make it work.

The proper costume, and not a little audacity, she could freely admit to herself. The plan was not without some considerable risk and would take no small amount of acting skill if she was to make it work.

She twirled again, getting accustomed to the feel of the gown. It was much more plain and had fewer layers than the gowns to which she was accustomed. Hardly a surprise, as she had borrowed it from one of her lady’s maids. The lightness of it felt odd, somewhat scandalous, but it was not uncomfortable beyond her ability to bear.

She examined her hair, pulled into a simple but fetching style that she could arrange herself, if necessary, and the powder she’d applied, a subtle coat to enhance her natural appearance, rather than to alter it.

All in all, it was a far cry from the public appearance of Lady Henrietta Stanton, high society matchmaker. In a word, it was perfect.

She took a bag, in which she’d packed some necessities, for the Marquess resided in his country seat rather than in town, and slipped noiselessly from her rooms, taking care to keep quiet as she maneuvered through the darkened halls of her home. Much of the household was abed, a rarity so early in the evening during the Season, and she’d no wish to raise the alarm.

Good fortune was with her, and she encountered no one as she glided silently down the servant’s stairs and out into the back courtyard, where her favorite coachman stood waiting. He bowed as she approached. “Lady Henrietta.”

“None of that now.” She shook her head. “You may call me Hetty, instead. Hetty Smith. It’s best I get used to a proper name for this guise.”

“As you say, miss.” The coachman, John Thistle, took her bag and loaded it, then handed her up into the carriage. “Though if you don’t mind my asking—are you sure you wish to do this?” Even in the dim glow of the gas lamps and the travel lantern she could see concern in his eyes. “It’s a risky venture you’re taking, and if you’re caught…your reputation…”

“Pox on my reputation! If I cannot undertake this challenge, I shall have no reputation worth mentioning in any case. And I am as sure that this course is correct as I was when I told you to take Sarah for a stroll in the garden last year. And I note you are quite happily married now”

A flush suffused his face. “Mayhap that is true, and I am grateful to you for the advice, my— Miss Smith. But my concern now is your status. ‘Tis one thing to play matchmaker and make excuses for two servants in your own home. ‘Tis quite another to…” He gestured to her outfit. “I can’t say I like you taking such risks.”

“No greater risk than I ran while assisting you.” She put a hand out to stop his protest. “Safe in my own house I might have been, but you cannot think father would have been at all pleased, had he discovered I was permitting the two of you use of my chambers for your trysts.”

John winced, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I suppose that is true.” He sighed. “As you will, miss, but I hope you don’t mind, I’ll be keeping my eye on you all the same.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Henrietta paused, looking at his distressed countenance. “I assure you, I do not do this for a lark.” She looked up at the house with a rueful twist of her lips. “I know the ton thinks I am a matchmaker because I like to be in charge of things, and there are few enough occupations where a woman might lead rather than be led. Perhaps that is true, even. But it is not my only reason.” She reached out a hand and touched his shoulder. “You and Sarah are so very happy, are you not?”

“She’s the best thing in my life, and I can only pray I am the same for her.”

“Indeed. Love’s a wondrous thing, and happiness is something everyone deserves. Including a reclusive ‘Dark Prince’.”

“If you say so.” He looked at the darkened house again, then at the lantern. “We’d best be going, if you want to get there and back before the night is gone.”

“Indeed.” Henrietta settled into her seat, and John shut the door. Moments later, there came a soft command, and the carriage rolled silently into the night.

 

*****

 

The night was passing steadily, and he had made little progress. Daniel huffed and dragged his now-bedraggled shirt sleeve over his brow.

He’d removed much of the excess marble, leaving something that might pass for a human silhouette, if one were tired enough. But he was no closer to envisioning the details of the form than he had been when he started. He was contemplating seeking his bed in hopes that morning would give him further inspiration, when a quiet knock interrupted his musing. He was almost grateful for the respite as he crossed to the door and tugged it open.

He was rather surprised to see Danvers, wearing an expression of carefully controlled exasperation. “What is it?”

“I’m afraid, my lord, that you have another visitor.” The butler’s voice was calm and controlled, but he could sense its masked irritation.

“Another…? Oh, for the love of England! Another ‘lost young lady’? At this hour?” He ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it down as he stretched his fingers.

“Indeed. She seems to be somewhat bolder than your usual callers.”

“Bolder indeed. I’ve half a mind to leave her on the doorstep or send her to make her own way home in the dark, if she’s so keen. No, don’t.” He waved a hand to stop Danvers from leaving. “I’ll take care of her. I would appreciate if you brought me some warm milk and perhaps a bit of tea for her. I’ll take her to the front receiving room.” He sighed. “Hopefully, this will not take too long.”

“As you say, my lord.” Danvers offered a brief bow, then vanished down the hall.

Daniel scrubbed a hand through his hair, suppressing a groan of frustration. He had little patience for the games of polite society at the best of times, and certainly no patience at all when they insisted on intruding in his life in the most discourteous of ways.

He gave a brief thought to cleaning up, then dismissed it. If the young lady wished to call at an hour when most sensible folk were abed, then she had no room to protest his attire or his appearance. With any luck, the sight of him in shirt sleeves and covered in patches of marble dust would be sufficient to send her on her way without recourse to any further measures on his part.

He took a little extra time, smoothing the irritation from his expression as he arrived at the door. Once he thought he was sufficiently composed, he pulled the heavy oaken panel open…

And stopped, utterly dumbfounded.

The woman in front of him—and she was most certainly a woman—was the loveliest representative of that fairer sex that he’d ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. Her gown was a muted sage green color, relatively simple in style and cut, but it flattered her slim height—she almost matched him on that score—and showed the curves of her hips and the shape of her well-endowed bosom far better than the richest and most stunning ball gown could do. Dark chestnut hair tumbled over her shoulders in an elegant style, reminiscent of Greek artworks he had seen while he was abroad, or the classical designs that he had been introduced to as part of his education. Her face was a pleasing, softly rounded oval, peaches-and-cream skin and sparkling blue eyes, with a small straight nose and full rosebud lips.

A discreet cough from behind him jerked him from his stupor, and he flushed. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I am the Marquess of Salisbury.”

“Good evening to you, Lord Salisbury. My name is Hetty Smith.”

“Well, please, do come in, Miss Smith.” He stepped aside to allow her into the hall. Danvers offered a silent hand to take her traveling cloak, which she relinquished readily enough. Once the butler had glided away, she turned to him.

“I do apologize for disturbing you at this late hour, my lord—”

“It is no matter.” He gestured. “If you would come with me, we can make ourselves comfortable while we talk.

“As you wish, my lord.”

He was glad to be in front of her as they made their way to the receiving room, as it gave him time to regain some of his composure.

How very typical… I ask for inspiration to knock upon my door—and promptly play the fool by staring and blushing like a boy half my age!

Only a moment ago, he’d been more than ready to send her packing, rather than resign himself to endure her presence and her, no doubt, clumsy attempts to deceive and entrap him. Now he thought he might welcome such attempts, if only she would remain present long enough for him to carve the delicacy of her features into marble, to remain for all time.

Danvers had seen to it that a small fire was laid and wanted only a bit of prodding to flare cheerfully in the hearth. He saw to that, then to making the lady comfortable, and by the time he was seated himself, Danvers had returned with the requested beverages.

He was beginning to wish he’d asked for a glass of scotch rather than warm milk. With some effort, he focused his attention on his guest. “Would you care for some tea?”

‘Thank you, but no, my lord.” She shook her head, which sent the soft waves of her hair dancing prettily over her shoulders. “I should not like to keep you too long from your rest.”

“I thank you for your courtesy.” He hoped she did not hear the edge of sarcasm that sharpened his words. He lifted his cup into his hands, letting the warmth and the faintly sweet scent of the frothy liquid soothe and ground him. “I suppose, given the hour, that your carriage, or whatever means of transport you have, has suffered some misfortune on the road?” He took a breath against the weary frustration that filled him, taking a mouthful of his drink to curb his tongue before he could say anything imprudent.

And he promptly choked at her amused reply.

“Not at all, my lord. My carriage is merely waiting at the end of the drive with my driver. My presence here is quite intentional, I do assure you.”

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Chapter One

London

April, 1816

His entire body tightened as mellifluous feminine laughter rang through the air.

Desperately, he tried to ignore the sweet tingles that rippled through him at that melodious sound.

He simply didn’t have the time or the luxury to entertain such ridiculous feelings when he was here for serious business. One that might as well be a matter of life–or otherwise.

His heart skipped a beat as that thought crossed his mind, and he found himself sending a frantic prayer up above.

God, please, let her be safe. I’d do anything, give anything, just to have my sister back home again.

The truth was a part of him couldn’t help feeling foolish. What was he doing here? Spending precious time that he could not afford to lose, watching this lady’s every move when he could have been turning the whole of London upside down.

When he could be searching all the nooks and crannies of the countryside and making certain that whoever had dared to lay a finger on his sister would regret doing so for the rest of their life?

Of course, he knew all of these things. Still, for a strong reason, he also couldn’t shake off the belief that this was where he was meant to be.

That the woman in front of him, Lady Eleanor, had the answer to all of his questions. That she was the key to it all.

If he could just get her alone in a place she would be unable to run away from, he might be able to get the entire truth out of her.

So as foolish as this seemed to even him, as far as his instincts were concerned, this was the most efficient and effective way to find his sister. And if there was anything he’d learned in his twenty-eight years on earth, it was that his instincts never failed him.

His teeth ground together as her soft laughter twirled in the air once more. He refused to pay attention to how her jade eyes dazzled under the afternoon sun. Eyes that reminded him of the feline creatures she very much took after.

Tongue as sharp as claws, ever ready to scratch and draw blood. Eyes that never rested, remaining abreast of every occurrence within her line of sight and premises, and the perfect body, so slender and lithe, made it all too easy for her to slip out of all the troubles she reveled in creating.

And again, there were her sharp senses. He’d watched her long enough to know that they never failed her. He knew exactly how quickly the hairs on the back of her nape stood whenever the merest thing was amiss. He’d seen how her nose scrunched up in annoyance when a person she didn’t care for entered the room, even with her back turned to the door. Or how piqued she became if she was forced into a situation she wanted to avoid, such as a harmless dance with an insufferable Lord.

They had been moving in the same circles for quite some time now, and he had had more than ample opportunity to study her person.

In fact, it would appear that whenever he found himself in the same room with her, all he ever seemed capable of was staring. He watched her almost to the point of obsession sometimes. And they often ended up engaging in a war of words, which excited him more than he cared to admit.

He supposed he should be perturbed by that and that he knew so much about her when in truth, the only emotions she’d ever been able to make him feel ranged from exasperation to aggravation with the ever-annoying exhilaration thrown in.

Oh well, in the spirit of absolute honesty, there were other feelings that she aroused in him as well, but no amount of torture would make him admit that aloud. Not even Rosa had the ability to rile him so entirely.

However, those feelings explained why he continued to pay her all that attention when she continued to fan the flames of irritation inside of him, by simply being her petulant self who didn’t care much for society’s approval.

In any case, he was grateful that all the knowledge of her person was finally coming in handy.

Because he knew all these things about the lady, he’d been able to put together the perfect plan. One that would use her weaknesses, such as her undying love for children and inability to stand by and watch a soul being hurt, against her, whilst making sure that her strengths be made useless.

If he succeeded in besting her today, it would be a victory for him in more ways than one. He would have the boast of finally beating her at whatever game they’d been playing for the past few years.

And that would be quite the feat indeed, considering that nobody had ever been able to best the insufferable Lady Eleanor. Not even her own father, an Earl.

Then again, the Earl enabled her, didn’t he? He was so smitten with his daughter that he could not deny her anything or curb her excesses. No wonder she’d reached the age of four-and-twenty with no marriage prospects and evidently no willingness to even consider any.

Of course, it didn’t help that she now ran a seminary, where she taught young girls to become just as rebellious as herself.

It was quite unfortunate that Teresa seemed to have been lured into her clutches. And look where that had gotten her.

“Lady Eleanor! I certainly cannot possibly purchase this on your purse!” one of the young ladies who were with her cried, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, nonsense!” Lady Eleanor responded, brushing the protest aside with a wave of her hand. “You can, and you very well will. I insist, truly, it’s no trouble. It is your birthday tomorrow, after all. I shall never be able to forgive myself if I didn’t gift you with something worthy, considering how good a student you’ve been.”

The child who’d been objecting only a moment before, beamed now unmistakable joy filling her eyes. But there was something there as well, gratitude, admiration, adoration.

It tumbled his insides.

Of course, he would be lying if he said he could not see why his sister had been so besotted with her. She was a radical, after all, and women of her kind had an odd way of serving as an inspiration to those who wished desperately for something new, different, refreshing… contrarian.

Sadly, the little girls were much too young to realize that none of those things meant anything good, certainly not for ladies of their station.

Lady Eleanor could afford to be a rebel. Her father was beyond wealthy enough to satisfy her every whim, and he gave her much more freedom than any woman should have.

The young girls by her side, though, he was afraid weren’t so privileged. Their parents were not as liberal as the Earl, and neither did they have the luxury of letting their daughters remain unmarried for the rest of their lives.

When they attained full maturity, they would be required to marry, as was only right and proper for ladies.

By then, they would be too far gone, so imbibed with their teacher’s erroneous lessons, that they wouldn’t even know how to be good wives, submitting to their husbands’ will, and properly run their homes.

In the rare case that they succeeded at that, they would be much too unhappy, ever wishing for the life of freedom Lady Eleanor’s teachings had promised them. Foolish, wistful dreams that could never be had.

Or worst still, they might do something entirely stupid, just like his Teresa had done.

A small sigh slipped past his lips. If only he’d been more observant, perhaps, he would have been able to stop this from happening.

Alas, he’d failed his sister and, as such, his family.

The only thing keeping him sane was the hope that Teresa was safe. She had to be. Even though he did not have praise for Lady Eleanor, he had faith that she did not have one callous bone in her body.

Whatever had happened with Teresa, if she truly had any hand in it, he was almost entirely certain that his sister was not in any real danger.

His focus had to remain on finding and bringing her back home. Then, he would set his campaign into motion.

A campaign to ensure that Lady Eleanor never had the power to wield influence over any other child in England, or even the entire world if he could, ever again.

He would make certain every parent realized the risks they were trifling with, by letting someone like her instruct their daughters, even if she had an intelligent mind and kind heart, and if she never even charged a farthing for those lessons.

And when he was done doing so, he would watch her run with her tail between her legs out of London, never to return.

Ah, there we go…

He thought to himself as she finally moved away from the busy stalls to the less congested alleys.

His eyes left her then to search for the child he’d employed to help carry out his plans successfully.

He spotted the boy easily. The lad, who could not have seen past ten summers, was huddled in the corner he’d been assigned, evidently waiting for his master’s command.

The twinkle in those dusty gray eyes told him the child found this exhilarating and was thrilled by the thought of what he’d have to do.

Of course, he supposed that the handsome reward promised was more than enough reason for joy, as far as the child was concerned.

He raised his head slowly at the boy and brought it down. Then sticking his thumb in the air, he nodded again.

That was all the lad needed. He drew a few steps closer to the lady yet far enough to pull her away from her companions and the eyes of onlookers. But still within distance to be clearly heard, he threw himself to the ground and broke out in a strangled cry as he raised his knees to his chest and cradled it desperately.

Genuinely impressed by the impeccable performance, he watched in awe as the boy continued to cry and whimper. If he hadn’t known that it was all a show, part of the grand scheme, he would have fallen for it.

Before he could finish that thought, Lady Eleanor ran towards the poor lad, almost revealing her ankles underneath her madly swishing skirts as she made her way.

He sucked in his breath at the glimpse, hating that even the most insignificant thing about her elicited a reaction from him.

Alas, this was not insignificant, was it? She was running through the streets of London with her ankles nearly on display for anyone who cared to look. And heavens, what fine ankles they were!

He grounded his teeth again, forcing his fists to unclench lest he bruise his knuckles with the brick wall that had served as his refuge all this time.

Bloody hell! Did he have to be such a man at a time like this?

Thankfully, he had no time to ponder that question because Lady Eleanor finally arrived at the child’s side, exactly where he wanted her, and it was his time to strike, at long last.

He jumped into action, throwing one leg in front of the other in quick, quiet strides.

It took him all of ten to reach her side, and he was very well aware of the moment her senses finally swung to her rescue, but it was much too late.

For one of the first times ever, the lady wasn’t swift enough to slip away to safety as his left arm went around her and his right covered her mouth.

Trying to sound as sinister as possible, he breathed in her ear, “Don’t scream.”

 

Chapter Two

“It is an exceptionally fine day, do you not think?” Eleanor Warwick chirped as she and her company of three young ladies came to a stop in front of a jeweler.

“Oh it certainly is, Lady Eleanor,” Aurora responded, while the other two, Cecilia and Lois, nodded in agreement.

Eleanor’s lips deepened in a smile. “Now you see why I insisted on coming out today. Admittedly, it was a rather cold morning, but the skies were so blue, I knew it would not rain.”

“You are so full of wisdom and knowledge, my lady.” This was Lois.

Again, Eleanor beamed. Only this time, she also felt her cheeks grow warm. “Oh, you flatter me. I only commit myself to learning. Just as you have from the moment you agreed to join the seminary.”

Cecilia finally spoke. “We all know it is deserved praise, Lady Eleanor. The ton can say what they want about you, but no one can deny that you have many admirable qualities. And you are indeed wise. It is why we’re so grateful for the opportunity to be able to learn from you.”

“Speaking of qualities,” Aurora continued. “Can we speak about how gracious our fine lady is? But for her endless generosity, how would ladies of our status ever be able to learn to read and write? Thanks to her, almost every common family in London can boast of at least one learned daughter, if not two.”

Eleanor had no words to say, mostly because her throat was choked with emotions.

Of course, this kind of conversation was not new to her. People deemed it fitting to point out her kindness as often as they did her petulance. Nonetheless, she found that she could never grow accustomed to the former.

The latter, she wore like a badge of honor, with pride. As far as she was concerned, being an example of rebellion in London society attested more that she had a superior mind and more than enough sense.

She would never fail to recognize that she had her father, as well as the sound education he had given her, to thank for that. It was why she tried to give back as much as she could.

If anyone asked her, she would loudly declare that she believed it was time for a new wave of women. She’d grown bored of the ladies who seemed to only know how to smile, blush, or nod once they caught the attention of any gentleman they deemed suitable enough.

There needed to be more women who knew their own minds and weren’t afraid to speak them. Who wanted more out of life than marriage and children all while being under a man’s guidance and authority for as long as they lived.

First, a father, then a husband, then a son. That was the life of a woman. Heaven forbid she chose differently. She would be branded as unladylike and ostracized from society.

The only reason that had not yet been her plight was the power and wealth her father wielded. And, of course, the seminary.

Given this, she could not deny the privilege that her father’s influence gave her. It was why she was dedicated to using it well.

Many of these girls might never have the same kind of privilege, but at the very least, they would be made aware of other options, The sheer power in being able to decide for themselves, the course they wanted their lives to take, be it marriage, or otherwise.

If anyone asked her, that was her life’s true goal. To liberate as many young women as she could so that they would, in turn, liberate twice their number. Until such a time came when the world would be brimming with women who can be considered just as powerful and independent as men. Women with the right to choose and do all else that a man could do.

“Lady Eleanor?”

Aurora’s soft prodding pulled her out of her mind’s endless maze, and as she realized that she’d yet again wandered off, she broke into laughter.

“Forgive me,” she pleaded as she recovered. “I was woolgathering yet again.”

“A penny for those thoughts?” Cecilia teased, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Eleanor retorted, not missing a beat. “Well, as it would happen, I have no need for a penny. So, how about I give you this instead…”

She reached out then, picking up a delicate necklace that had caught her eyes the moment they stopped at the stall.

Cecilia gasped then, her awe evident. “Lady Eleanor! I certainly cannot possibly purchase this on your purse!” she cried.

“Oh, nonsense!” Eleanor responded, brushing the protest aside with a wave of her hand. “You can, and you very well will. I insist, truly, it’s no trouble. It is your birthday tomorrow, after all. I shall never be able to forgive myself if I didn’t gift you with something worthy, considering how good a student you’ve been.”

Cecilia, whom Eleanor considered to be most like her amongst the girls clamped her lips as her eyes brimmed with tears, and many more emotions that Eleanor recognized all too well.

The child was speechless, good. Like herself, it was not often that someone succeeded in achieving that feat, for Cecilia’s tongue was just as sharp as her wit.

“Thank you so much, my Lady. I do not know what to say.”

Eleanor simply patted her cheeks softly. “You’ve said plenty enough. Now, let’s have this carefully wrapped, shall we?”

Cecilia bobbed her head, and as such, it was settled.

Of course, she also purchased gifts for the other girls, although not as extravagant as Cecelia’s.

Soon enough, they were done with their shopping, and Eleanor was ready to have them return to the seminary. But to be sure they didn’t forget anything, she looked around once more.

They’d just gotten to the last stalls when she heard it. A strangled cry ripping through the air.

She froze, her heart almost ceasing to beat, as she bade herself not to fear the worst. Then, a moment passed, and she didn’t hear anything more.

She began to turn around then, the initial shock losing its hold on her. Straining her ears, she tried to listen more closely. That was when she heard it, a soft whimper.

Her stomach churned. There was no denying now that the cry indeed been that of a child.

Frantically, her eyes darted into every corner she could find hoping that she wouldn’t get to the child too late. It sounded like a boy, but it wasn’t often easy to tell with young children.

It is a boy, she thought to herself when her eyes finally settled on a small frame on the ground.

He was lying face-up, cradling his knees to his chest. Eleanor could not tell what could have happened, but from how restlessly he was writhing, she could tell that he was in much pain.

That was all she needed to get moving.

“Girls,” she called out to her students. “Stay here. If we need to bring the carriage around, I will signal you. I won’t be long. Wait for me.”

With those words, she ran as quickly as her legs could carry her.

He was farther away from her than she’d surmised, and worried that she wouldn’t get to him quickly enough, she hiked up her skirts and applied the freedom it gave her to her advantage.

She knew that if anyone saw her, they’d be horrified. Nonetheless, it would just be one more piece of gossip about her in the scandal sheets.

She’d lost count of how many times those sheets carried her name. If only she got a penny for each one, Lord knew she would have been able to extend the seminary’s scholarship offers to the countryside by now.

Finally, she reached the boy’s side, and immediately, she fell to her knees and began to reach for him.

“Where does it hurt?” she inquired, her voice heavy with all the concern she felt. “What happened? May I touch you?”

The child said nothing, he simply kept writhing in pain, so she chose to put what little medical knowledge she had to practice.

He had no bruises, so she didn’t think he’d been hit by a man or a coach; thank goodness for that. The more she examined him, the more glaring his hollowed eye sockets and neck bones became. His cheek was just as sunken, almost nonexistent.

That was when it occurred to her. Her heart twisted in a pang. The child must have doubled over from hunger and probably hurt his knees. Poor child. If her father wasn’t already tired of her bringing in strays, she would have taken every homeless, struggling child off the streets and given them the chance of a better life.

Alas, she was only one person, and there was only so much she could do.

“Are you hungry?”

The child’s eyes fluttered open then for the first time, and she was startled by the blinding glow of those gems. They were the strangest yet most beautiful color of topaz she’d ever seen. And she got so lost staring into them that she became even less aware of her surroundings.

“My apologies, m’lady,” the lad whispered. “You seem like a really nice lady, but I had to make money for bread, for me ma and me sick sister.”

Eleanor’s brow furrowed in confusion as she wondered what he was going on about. However, that confusion soon cleared as her senses kicked back into place.

She felt him before she heard his footsteps. Alas, it was too late. Just as she shot to her feet, ready to break into another run, she felt his arm go around her waist.

She didn’t have the chance to scream because his free hand covered her lips, rendering her helpless, if only for a moment.

She closed her eyes, bidding herself to stay calm as full realization dawned.

It’d been a trap, and she’d fallen for it. Considering all the effort and details, it was clear that the culprit had to be someone who knew her well.

It didn’t help that he felt awfully familiar as well. That his arm settled around her waist made her tingle rather than making her squirm in discomfort.

And what was that scent? It was the common tea wood scent that many gentlemen these days had, as though their valets used the same bathing herbs for all of them.

But there was something distinct about this man… something she recognized somehow.

And when he pressed into her so that he’d be close enough to whisper in her ear, it felt as though lightning fired through her nerves, setting every part of her on fire.

Who was this man, and what did he want from her?

“Don’t scream.”

A sharp retort stung her tongue, and she wished he hadn’t already made certain that she wouldn’t be able to do respond.

She tried to turn around, wondering if the girls could see what was happening, but she doubted it.

The child must have moved as she made her way over to a spot hidden from public view. She’d been too focused on helping him that she hadn’t even noticed. What a fool she’d been.

Calm down, Eleanor; take deep breaths. You’ve thought about what to do in situations like this. You can get out of this.

She didn’t know the strength of her attacker. Still, she was confident it would be reasonably easy to disarm him in their current position. For one, he would not assume a lady would be strong enough to fight him. He also wouldn’t be expecting her to attack.

With the element of surprise by her side, she might just make it out of this unharmed.

“Don’t even think of doing anything foolish,” the man whispered in her ear again.

It would appear he had the power to read minds as well.

Her kidnapper continued, “If you don’t want any harm to come to your students or our little friend here, I’ll suggest you do as I say and follow me quietly. If you cooperate, all of this will be over soon enough. You’ll be able to go back to your sweet Papa and I will get what I want from you.”

She bobbed her head in response, and she could swear she heard him sigh in relief. Almost as though he’d been worried she would refuse to cooperate indeed.

“Good,” he whispered again. “We’re in agreement then. Now, come with me.”

Eleanor knew she should be afraid, but for some reason, the more she heard this man speak, the more confident she became that he wasn’t going to hurt her, not truly.

But what could he possibly want from her? And why the hell did he feel so familiar?

She tried to rack her brain as they began to move, but that proved difficult, thanks to the strong arm he continued to hold her with. Who could he possibly be?

She was aware that very few people in London cared for her.  They were not civil enough to bother about hiding it, not that she minded. In fact, she much preferred it that they were so forthcoming with their dislike for her. She preferred it to those who smiled at her face and said vile things behind her back.

She was very much aware of the fact that she was not London’s darling. However, she never could have imagined that anyone would ever harm her. That they would ever attempt to physically accost her.

What could have been the driving force behind such a mad, ill-advised endeavor? Alas, she came up with no good reason at all.

Somehow, he managed to get them through the alley, although he did have to loosen the arm around her waist a little bit.

Just as Eleanor had suspected, carriage was waiting on the other side as they stepped out from the backstreet.

She smiled when she saw it, finally realizing who her assailant was.

Ah… indeed, she had been worried for nothing. The man who held her could not harm her. Not that he did not have the power to, that was another matter entirely.

No, he could not hurt her simply because he was too much of a gentleman for all his bravado.

For all the effort and detail he’d put into making sure he bested her, he’d forgotten to disguise his coach. Even her students wouldn’t be that foolish.

Who in their right senses brought along a carriage bearing their family crest to an abduction with a footman fully dressed in the family’s livery in tow?

She mentally shook her head, heaving a sigh.

To think that she’d always believed him to be one of the few gentlemen of her acquaintance who didn’t have straw for brains.

So good of him to finally prove her wrong.

Now, all she had to find out was why he was doing something so foolhardy to gain a private audience with her.

He could have just called upon her at the seminary or even her father’s townhouse in Mayfair. But no, here they were, he playing the scoundrel and she the damsel in distress.

How intriguing, she rolled her eyes.

Eventually, they reached the carriage, and the footman rushed to open the door. Still ensuring she could not see his face, he helped her onto the carriage as gently as possible and got in behind her.

Finally, as they sat face to face, she could now confirm her suspicions.

Sure enough, the person in front of her, with dazzling blue eyes, dark waves of hair, and a jaw that looked like it was carved of marble, was none other than the future Duke of Dorset. Lord William Evans.

“Evans,” she said with the sweetness of an unripe orange and just the correct level of sarcasm to reveal her non-surprise. “I didn’t know you were so given to theatrics. Then I suppose one never truly know another, do they?”

“Lady Eleanor,” he snarled in response, his face devoid of his usual smile that varied from condescending to aggravated depending on the emotions she managed to elicit from him. “Will you stay still, or do I have to put my cravat to use?”

Her eyes flew to his neck of their own volition, and that was when she realized that he’d indeed untied the neckpiece, leaving his neck and chest bare and revealing much more than she was comfortable with.

She averted her gaze, immediately chastising herself for the thoughts that had near filled her mind. She hated that her cheeks chose that moment to catch some of the heat from the humid day either or surely she was not blushing at Lord Evans.

“I’ll take that as an affirmative answer. Very wise.”

Swallowing hard, she stilled mind to regain composure. It was only when she trusted herself enough to speak without betraying her unease that she asked again.

“What is the meaning of all of this? I suppose you must have an excellent explanation?”

His response was a smirk as he rapped three times against the roof of the carriage.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Just then, the carriage lurched into motion, and Eleanor’s eyes widened.

For a brief moment, she wondered if she’d misjudged the situation and trusted in Lord Evans’ good character a little too much.

What if he was not the respectable gentleman, she’d always believed him to be, howbeit a famed rake.

What if he had other… hidden, dark… tendencies? What if she was actually in danger?

“Relax. I don’t have fangs. Neither do I have claws. I’m taking you to my bachelor apartments. That’s the only place I trust us to have any real privacy. I am in control, there as you cannot simply walk away without being seen, which would destroy your reputation. I have the power to keep you for as long as I desire until you give me what I want.”

“And what would that be?” Eleanor demanded as her fears settled.

He held her gaze then, saying nothing for a prolonged moment as he simply stared into her eyes.

Finally, just when she thought she’d have to gasp for air from being unable to breathe, he responded.

“I have a feeling you already know. And just so we’re clear, I intend to find out everything. Do not even think of lying to me. I promise you, it wouldn’t help you.”

Eleanor could tell that he meant every word, even though she did not fully understand what he was nattering on about. It was in the foreign hardness in his glare, the resolution in his voice, and the stiffness of his shoulders.

The moment confirmed to her that something had to be amiss with her. Because rather than feel worried at his threats, all she felt was excitement.

Good heavens. I’m indeed in trouble!

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