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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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Prologue

The Archbishop of Westminster could not help but arch his eyebrows in surprise as he read the names on the banns before him.

Could it be that the old lord Henstridge had finally managed to make a match for his youngest son?

The archbishop twirled the episcopal ring on his finger. He did not know much of social affairs, but everyone in London knew of the infamous Croydon Club, where young Henstridge was a frequent patron.

And his reputation among the ladies was well known. The rake had been responsible for leaving a trail of broken hearts in the wake of his conquests, and the archbishop personally knew of a few; those repentant ladies had whispered their sins to him in the confessional, recounting with tears how the second Henstridge heir had seduced them.

Now, he held up the banns to the vicar seated opposite his desk. “You say there is no impediment to this union? Both parties are in consent?”

The vicar shrugged his shoulders. “The family was most insistent, Your Eminence. You see, it was Lord Hamilton, and I could not very well question his word about the validity of the claim.”

It was enough. Nodding in satisfaction, the archbishop raised his seal to the melted wax at the bottom of the paper and pressed it, making the document official and binding.

With this, young Henstridge would be tied in holy matrimony, leaving the naïve ladies pure and his own handkerchief dry during confessions.

He read the banns once more before handing it to the vicar:

Certificate of Banns

I hereby certify that the Banns of Marriage between Lady Georgina Eloise Hamilton, daughter of Lord Philip Hamilton of Brandon Hall, and Lord Anthony Caleb Henstridge of Clemsdale, son of Lord Clement Henstridge of Stokeworth, were duly published in the Church of England, Westminster Abbey, on the 19^th day of August, in the year of our lord 1816.

The announcement shall be made on Sunday, the 20^th day of August 1816, at Westminster Abbey and shall run for three weeks hence.

Witness by my hand that no impediment was alleged to this contract, and I do so grant permission for the contract.

Signed: Archbishop Philip Thomas Maynard of Westminster Abbey,

on the 19^th day of August, in the year of our lord, 1816.

 

Chapter One

Barlow Hall, London

21^st of August, 1816

Three weeks to the Wedding

After a year and a half of travelling the continent, countless sexual adventures, and an earful from his father upon his return, Anthony Henstridge, second son to the Earl of Stokeworth, wanted to be left alone to his thoughts.

As impossible as that might be.

He shook his head in exasperation as Jasper began walking toward him. How many times could he say no before his friend understood?

It was the third time he had been asked to dance with one of the debutantes, and he had declined every time, preferring the solitude granted by his position at the back of the ballroom, close to the windows; from here, he had a vantage point of the dancers themselves, and was well away from the prowling eyes of eager mamas looking for a match for their simpering, wide-eyed daughters.

There was a time when he found the debutante season interesting; a time when he attended balls to socialize with the ladies, living up to his reputation as the worst debaucher, gentleman rake, and bon vivant of London’s high society. Now, it all felt tiring, and he was bored out of his mind.

Jasper was near now, and Anthony smiled at his friend. Jasper was completely different now, more relaxed. Before he had set out for his trip abroad, Anthony had had to rescue his friend from a near disaster involving a scoundrel and a fraudulent scheme. Afterwards, he had asked his financial advisor, Mr Campbell, to oversee the operations of a trading enterprise that Jasper’s father-in-law, Lord Richard, had joined in. While he was yet to get the detailed reports from Mr Campbell, Jasper had invited him to dinner in their London residence to celebrate their fruitful partnership.

And an invitation to this ball had followed.

Taking another sip of the glass in front of him, he winced as the fiery liquid swirled down his throat, warming him inside. Jasper took the seat beside him, refilling the glass with wine instead of the brandy.

“Sometimes, my friend, I have an image of you falling drunk from your horse,” Jasper said as he lifted his glass to him, a twinkle in his eye. “It would seem you prefer spirits more often than any other drink.”

“Can you blame me; when I have you for company?” Anthony quipped.

Jasper laughed, the sort of laughter that had him covering his face from being seen in such a display of hilarity, all the while struggling to hold his mirth. A few moments later, his face was flushed as he looked at Anthony.

“My company cannot be so dreadful as to force you to the bottle, no? Surely you have had worse.” Jasper sat back in his chair when he finished, swirling the glass of wine in his hand.

“It was a jest, friend,” Anthony responded. Jasper understood him more than anyone else, and at this moment, the other man seemed to notice his disinterest in the room. “You need not worry about me. Go and talk with the other guests; it is your ball, after all.”

“It is indeed, and I would rather sit with you. I do not think I have smiled this much for a while, and my mouth protests the exertion.” He took another sip of his wine. “Some respite is what I crave most.”

“Shall we sit then, in silence then? I am afraid that I shall be the very poor company for you tonight.”

“Have no fear on that matter. Should your company prove most undesirable, I shall return to my wife, and I am sure I shall be brightened again.”

Anthony gave a deep chuckle as he clinked glasses with his friend before they downed their drinks, sitting in silence to watch the dancers twirl in the centre of the ballroom. His eyes followed a certain pair as they glided gracefully, the man leading the lady as they moved in perfect unison, the woman’s face radiant under the candlelight.

“What do you think of the pair?”

Turning, Anthony saw Jasper staring at him. “What was that?” he asked.

“I think they make a handsome couple,” Jasper said, pausing to take another drink. “Do you not agree?”

Anthony looked at the couple again, recognizing the man dancing with the lady. He suddenly found himself thinking how propitious his station was. “It is a good thing indeed that I am a second son,” he answered. “If you must know, Lord Fife is rather keen on making a match, thanks to his mother’s persistent efforts, and the young lady,” he nodded at the dancing pair, “is the only daughter of Sir Crane. She will bring a substantial dowry with her to the union.”

With that, he turned to resume watching, admiring the performance until the music died down to strains until it finally stopped. The dancers parted, the men bowing while the women dipped into curtsies – and they all parted; the third dance was to begin shortly.

“That was a wonderful performance,” Anthony heard Jasper say.

“Indeed it was. It was not long ago that we were like them.” Anthony nodded at his friend. “In my case, however, I am still unmarried and hope to remain so for as long as I can manage.”

“I still cannot understand why you insist on remaining so. But I learned a long time ago to let you be. However, you should, at the very least, choose to grace some lady with the pleasure of dancing with you.” Jasper patted him on the back in the way men playfully hit their friends. “I am sure more than a few ladies here would not mind sharing a dance with you. I dare say you are lucky they have not come to ask you themselves, even with your reputation.”

“What about my reputation? You must know that half of the things said about me are mere talk. The ton gossip is usually exaggerated.”

“Well, you have heard the saying that reformed rakes make the best husbands.”

Anthony held up a hand quickly. “I would rather you did not talk about marriage or about anything of the sort now. I have heard enough from my father about marriage in the days since my return, and I would rather talk about anything else.”

“I am afraid that is impossible. I have heard rumours that there is a wager about when you will finally make a wedding match. And I am inclined to make a bet myself.”

“That is a bet you would lose, my friend. It is to be a bachelor’s life for me.” He held his glass in a mock salute to himself. “And in the meantime, here’s to cavorting and revelling in all the finest offers London has.”

His friend shook his head in seeming exasperation. “Do you suppose your father will continue to indulge your lifestyle? Suppose he forces you to make a match or worse; he does so himself? What will you do then?”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You seem to forget, dear friend, that I have been financially responsible for my own expenses since I inherited my Clemson barony. And my investments abroad are vast, a fact for which I am forever indebted and eternally grateful to Mr Campbell for his ingenuity. I have no further need of an inheritance; neither do I entertain any notions of one day inheriting the Stokeworth fortune.”

Jasper was distracted at that moment by the sudden appearance of a lady, most beautiful in a dress of green chiffon with long lacy sleeves of a lighter hue of the same colour, covered with soft gloves that covered her hands. Matching earrings dangled from her ears, and on her neck was a silver necklace with an elegant emerald set in the centre, glimmering in the candlelight as the lady herself seemed to glow.

She placed a hand on Jasper’s shoulder before moving to sit in the chair beside him. Looking closer, Anthony smiled at the look of exhaustion on her face. “Long night, my lady?”

“The longest I have had in a while. Motherhood is not easy when two young hellions are determined to run amok in the hall.” Her voice was like the sound of birds singing at sunrise, soft and delicate. Anthony let out a sigh; he could not help but admire her, this beautiful lady his friend had been fortunate enough to call his wife; Lady Adelaide Barlow, duchess of Barlow Ridge.

Jasper laid a hand on hers. “Motherhood suits you, my sweet.”

Anthony felt something tug at his heart. The moment was so incredibly beautiful, watching the two of them so close and so one with each other. Was there a world where he would have such a partner? One who would understand him so perfectly as his Adelaide understood his friend?

“How are the children?” he asked when Adelaide looked at him. “Do you wish for me to take them with me to Stokeworth manor?”

She smiled at him in turn. “I shall very well take you up on that offer, my lord. However, I must say I am rather surprised; I had thought you to have danced at least twice with half the ladies here tonight. What is the matter?” She gave him a wink that warned him she was about to poke fun at him. “Are there pins in your boots, sir?”

“Not at all,” Jasper interjected, his hand on his wife’s as she interlinked their fingers together. “Our friend here suffers from a completely different ailment, one of self-imposed reclusion from dancing with London’s finest Belles.”

A look of mock horror appeared on Adelaide’s face. “Lord Anthony Henstridge!” Her eyes were wide, but he recognized the glint of amusement in them. “Surely you do not mean to deny the ladies the privilege of a dance with your lordship?”

“That was exactly what I asked him.” Jasper peeled a grape from the platter of fruit on the table before them, feeding them in tiny cuts to his wife. “Apparently, he feels otherwise and maintains he has made the right decision.”

A silent Anthony sat back, watching Jasper and his wife. It was wonderful to watch his friend be so open and loving towards another person. Before Adelaide, Jasper had been different, more tightly wound, as though spoiling for confrontation all the time. That was before he was married and settled into domestic life.

Now, he could appreciate the irony of the situation; he was the one wound up now, while his friend was giving him the same advice he had been giving almost two years ago.

How the tables had turned.

“Anthony?” Adelaide leaned closer, concern etched all across her face. “Are you all right? You seem a bit in a mood tonight. Was there something that had vexed you?”

“Not of your making.” He softened his voice to reassure them, Jasper staring at him as well. “To be perfectly honest, I have not been the same since my return from the continent. I had thought by now this feeling of detachment.”

“Was it something that happened abroad? Or was there a woman involved?”

With a look at his empty glass, he reached for the bottle of brandy, his fingers encircling the bottle…Only to grasp the empty air.

He narrowed his eyes at Jasper, who had the bottle in his hand, wagging it at him. “No more for you, my friend. I prefer you remain sober, not passed out drunk.

Anthony gave him a look of indignation. “When have you ever seen me passed out drunk? He paused as he recalled one very distinct instance, and the hangover the next morning was terrible. Jasper was right, he admitted. “Perhaps some wine then?”

“I am sure you shall find that much more pleasant than the brandy,” Jasper said as he placed the brandy bottle on the far side of the table. Then, he poured some wine into the glass Anthony held out to him.

Not as desirable, Anthony thought as he drank the wine.

“Might I share a confession with you?”

Two heads nodded curiously at him.

“I have not been the same since my return. As a matter of fact, I had become increasingly bored with everything in the days before my travel, and I thought an adventure was the cure for this ailment. Yet, the journey failed to give me the thrill I hungered for. Every interaction with strangers became annoying, the different weather unbearable, and with every second, I missed England more.

“Now, ever since my return, I have been disillusioned with society, a frustration made worse by my father’s incessant demands that I be married to continue the Henstridge legacy. Lately, his persuasions have become more animated, and he has delivered an ultimatum; if I do not make a match in a fortnight, he has forsworn to carry out the duty of seeking a worthy match for me himself, despite my attempts to dissuade him from pursuing such course of action. It would seem the old man has some renewed vigour in the course, and this has made my stay at the family home somewhat untenable.”

He paused to look at their faces. “Do you still wonder why I chose to sit by myself here and drink in silence?”

Jasper shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot claim to understand all you have said. Alas, I can say that you should consider what your father has said.”

Anthony was about to respond when Adelaide laid a hand on his. “Have you considered that perhaps you do not need new thrills or need to go abroad to search for them, but perhaps someone to share a life with?”

“A wife?” Anthony shook his head. “That is not an option I would be willing to consider.”

Adelaide leaned forward. “I mean, in view of your father’s option, perhaps you should consider getting married.”

Anthony was grateful at that moment that he had swallowed his drink; otherwise, he might have choked on it at those words. Marriage? He took a minute to calm himself before he responded. “That, my lady, would be a fate worse than a lifetime of boredom.”

Jasper winked at Adelaide. “I believe he needs just the opposite. Anthony needs something to excite him. A new thrill perhaps… or maybe a bet?” he turned to Anthony, who felt the first stirrings of excitement at the mention of the word ‘bet’. “Are you a sporting man, Anthony?”

“You know I am. What do you have in mind?”

“I have a wager for you.” Jasper clapped his hands excitedly. “I propose a wager; that there is absolutely no way you will find an appropriate match to court by the end of the Season. One of the respectable ladies, of course….”

Anthony held up a finger. “I fail to see the logic behind this wager. What exactly do you hope to achieve with this ridiculous proposal?”

“Patience, my lord, is a virtue. May I be allowed to continue?”

This is beyond ridiculous, Anthony thought, but there was no harm in hearing his friend out; he was already intrigued as it was. “Do continue, please.”

“Thank you. As I said, I do not think it is not your father’s demands that have made you bored, nor his attempts to find a match for you. Actually, you are afraid you will never make a match without help. After all, a man with a rakish reputation like you is hardly a sought-after match. Thus you hide behind this veneer of solitude and reclusion because you are afraid you have been destined for such a fate. He concluded with a wink.

Anthony shook his head. “Just when I think I understand you, you say something that makes my head spin. A second son is never a sought-after match, not to mention my reputation. So, I ask you, what makes you think I need to hide behind anything?” He downed the drink in his hand and placed the glass gently on the table. “As to your claims that I am unable to make a match without help,” a slow smile, “how much do you care to wager?”

Jasper’s own smile mirrored his own, and; his eyes seemed to say, At last, a challenge.

 

Chapter Two

Hamilton Hall, Brandonshire

27^th of May, 1816

Two months earlier

They had arrived just before the service as the belfry bells began clanging.

Sitting at the back of the chapel so as not to attract attention, Georgina looked around the chapel in reverent wonder. The soft sounds of the organ playing made her feel light; she had always enjoyed spending time in church, and in quiet, peaceful moments, she often thought of her mortality. The hymns sung by the sweet, angelic voices of the choir; the white vestments of the minister and the serving boys, and the soft, muted hues from the stained glass panes cast an aura of devotion, and she found herself kneeling at the pew, saying a prayer for her sister.

She folded her hands together, her closed eyes misting with silent tears, as she said a short prayer, asking for the strength to deal with her loss.

An hour later, she had emerged from the chapel door, slipping out as quietly as she had entered, to return home in the carriage. Her eyes were outside all through the ride home. As the carriage rode across the countryside, she took in the view, her gaze roaming across the vast landscape while the evening sky turned a slow crimson. Yet her mind was uneasy.

As it had been ever since her sister’s passing.

Even now, the thought of her lively, animated sister, impish and mischievous and fun fun-loving, dead and buried, was a shock to her. Her eyes had been closed in death; those eyes that had shone brightly in life, and were filled with love and laughter and joy, were now closed, forever.

She would never again hear the sound of her sister’s bare feet running across the hall or her giggles at jests. Sarah was gone.

Georgina winced as pain raced through her like a sharp thorn, causing her heart to wrench and bleed anew. She was barely aware of her alighting from the carriage upon their return to Brandon Hall, and she climbed the stairs perfunctorily to sit in an empty room – her sister’s room which had been unoccupied in the six months after her death. And it had become her habit to come in here sometimes. She could hear her sister’s voice still if she listened hard enough.

She did not know how long she sat there, losing track of time as she tried to focus her senses on recreating the image of her sister. She pulled a spencer that had belonged to her sister from the closet and raised it to her nose, taking in the smell and crying as silent sobs wracked her shoulders. She could recall the first day her sister had worn the spencer and how she had insisted on going outside with it, despite it being out of fashion. Her sister, Sarah, had always been wilful, even as a child…

***

They had arrived early at a meadow close to the hall.

The thought of her first dance last night at the Bramington ball with Lord Forster was fresh in her memory, and she stumbled upon a snag, catching herself before she fell. Keeping her eyes down, she watched for snags before she walked. Up ahead, her younger sister ran to the clearing, spinning around with her arms held high, a smile on her face as she seemed to glow in the sun.

Georgina felt her heart tug at the sight, an urge to protect the girl welling deep from the maternal core inside her. Sarah was her duty, her responsibility. Their mother had placed her little sister in her arms as soon as she was born, and ever since, she had watched her with a mother’s eye.

Satisfied that the area was clear of snags, she had spread a blanket on the grass, opening a basket to lay out the food they had brought.

“What is that, sister? What has Cook made?” Sarah asked, coming to join her on the blanket.

Georgina sent a silent thanks to their cook. The older woman had prepared a basket of her favourite treats; bacon, pies, and some fruits, with small raisins – Sarah’s favourites. “Find out for yourself.”

Together, they proceeded to have a picnic there, taking tea from the small flask and letting the cool breeze wash over them as they ate.

Georgina was light-hearted and happy, and not just because she was having a splendid time with her sister. She thought of the time she had spent with Lord Forster and how much more she had wanted to talk to him, stay close to him and find out more about his life. Closing her eyes, she could picture him now, standing beside her as he told her all about his past and his future.

It was a wonderful thought.

She opened her eyes to see her sister staring at her, a mischievous look on her face. “I can tell what you were thinking now.” She popped a raisin into her mouth.

A smirk appeared on her sister’s lips. “No, you cannot. You cannot read minds….”

“You were thinking of Lord Forster, weren’t you?”

She swallowed. “What?”

Could she deny it? She knew her sister, Sarah, was going to hound her unless she revealed what she had been thinking about. “Very well. Do you promise to leave me alone if I agree you were right?”

Her sister was silent, her face fallen now. “Sister, may I tell you something?”

Drawing closer, Georgina put her arms around her sister. “Yes, you may. You can tell me anything.” She lifted her chin with one finger. “Never be afraid to tell me anything. You never need to hide anything from me. Do you understand?”

Sarah nodded. “Sometimes, I wish we could be together forever.” She looked at her with those round brown eyes. “Promise me you will be beside me, always.”

Georgina took her hand and drew her into a hug. “Always and forever, little one.”

***

Now, standing here, with her sister dead and she alone, Georgina thought of the memory with misty eyes. It seemed like an eternity ago.

Even now, she still could not recover from the shock and the grief, the pains when she woke up in the middle of the night, and the urge to rush to her sister’s room and convince herself that it was all a bad dream. And each time, she felt her heart wrench with pain. Their father had taken a tour of the continent six months after their incident in the meadow, with their mother in tow. Her older brother, Colin, had been left to manage the Hamilton holdings and estates.  Georgina had not minded the change, as long as Colin did not have any airs or try to make her do his bidding – which he had never attempted.

Three weeks later, Sarah had disclosed her pregnancy to her sister. Georgina had been confused, threatening to reveal the news to Colin if she did not disclose the identity of the man responsible. The threat failed, as Sarah informed Colin herself of her condition. All efforts to convince her to name the father of her unborn baby proved futile, and in the end, they had taken her to their country estate to have the baby in secrecy.

It had become a tragic affair.

Georgina would never forget the horror of finding her sister lying dead in her bed hours after giving birth to her stillborn daughter. An overdose of laudanum, the physician, had declared. A note on the table beside the bed read:

Forgive me, sister. I could not live in a world without my Aurora…perhaps in time, you may understand.

Georgina had felt grief, much more than she had thought possible, as she had held her sister’s hand, which had grown cold, her face beautiful and peaceful even in death. That same evening, they had laid her and her daughter to rest in the family crypt, with the name Sarah had chosen for her daughter etched on the tombstone.

Sarah and Aurora; so young, so tragic…

Raising the spencer to her nose again, Georgina pressed it until she could almost smell her sister on it. Her fingers danced along the edges, turning them inside out to put it around her own shoulders.

It would not fit, she knew, but at least it felt like she was holding Sarah in her arms again. Walking over to the window to gaze outside, she sighed, wiping her eyes as she thought of better days, of running with her sister in the meadow with the wind whipping past their faces…

She had a slight frown on her face as her fingers brushed something. Retrieving her hand from her pocket, she held up a folded piece of paper to the light and examined the writing on the front of the letter.

Chills ran down her spine as she recognized the writing as Sarah’s. What could the letter be? Was it a note or…

She took off the Spencer and placed put it in the same place in the closet. It was just as well that she had refused to let the servants clean out the room, preferring that the memory of the place remain intact. Who knew what else she would find in here.

Taking the note outside, she shut the door and put the key in her reticule, making her way to their father’s study. She tried to hold her excitement. What if she had allowed the servants to wash the clothes or give them out to charity? Would this letter have been discovered?

Who knew; perhaps it may have been. At the moment, she was more excited to have something that had belonged to Sarah. A letter was not the same as speaking to her in person, but it was very close, and she cherished the feeling.

Knocking on the door, she waited for the voice within to say ’enter’ before she pushed it open and walked inside the study.

She was struck by how much Colin had grown to resemble their father; it was simply uncanny. And sitting there, in their father’s chair, he looked more like Lord Hamilton now.

He looked up at her now, a pair of spectacles on his face. In the chair opposite him sat James Devon, his best friend for years. Colin raised a brow at her.

“Hello, Sister. I was about to send for you. I have received word that father shall return on the morrow and…” He paused, observing her closely. “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

She raised the paper as she covered the distance between them. “I found this just now when I was holding Sarah’s spencer.”

A familiar look of pain flashed across Colin’s face at the mention of their sister’s name, James looked away respectfully, and they all waited in silence until Colin took the note from her.

“May I ask, first of all, what you were doing with Sarah’s spencer?”

“That is not important. I thought I should tell you about this first. But if you prefer, I could read it on my own and tell you what it says?” she turned to leave.

“Wait!” Colin’s voice had a tinge of desperation. “I apologize for my question.” He examined the cover of the letter. “You have not read it yet?”

She shook her head. “I thought we could read it together.” A pause. “As a family.”

Colin nodded and stood, holding the letter under the light. James stood as well and began to pack the papers on the desk into a satchel bag.

“What are you doing, James?” Colin asked, putting down the letter.

James looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, I thought this was a family moment and that you would want to be left alone. I do not wish to pry.”

“Nonsense,” Colin shook his head. “You have been in our family since we were young lads. Sarah was as much as a sister to you as she was to me. Sit, please; you are family too.”

Georgina took the seat opposite her brother. She would have preferred that just the two of them heard the contents of the letter. Perhaps she should have read it herself before bringing it to Colin.

Sweetheart,

I count the seconds until we will see again. Know that each one feels like an hour when I am not with me. I love you, and I hope to be in your arms this evening.

AH

Colin raised his head, and Georgina met his gaze. “What in the world does that mean?” she asked her brother.

It was James who answered. “I do not mean to be forward, but that sounded like a love note.”

Georgina stared at the paper in Colin’s hand in confusion. A love note? She watched Colin fold it gently and place it on his desk. “Brother, what do you make of this?”

“I think James is right. It seems like a letter someone had sent to Sarah. But who was the mystery person?”

Could the sender of the letter be Sarah’s mystery lover? Could it be the man who was responsible for her sister’s pregnancy? Georgina felt her hands quiver with rage. Would she be able to unmask the villain?

James folded his arms across his chest. “The initials are AH. I do believe the name sounds familiar; Anthony Henstridge”.

Georgina searched her mind for a face, but nothing came up. “Who is he, this Anthony Henstridge?”

“He is a scion of one of London’s finest families, yet a notorious philanderer and seducer. He has spent the last year exploring the continent, and if the rumours are to be believed, he has a child from one of his many conquests, which is the reason many speculate that he travelled abroad in the first place. Lord Henstridge – the younger one, I mean, Anthony – is a well-known rake that is expected to enter the marriage mart now that he has returned from his travels.”

“Is that so?” Georgina asked. A plan had begun to form in her head, the anger clearing until only cold-blooded revenge remained in her mind. The man was not going to have the life he had denied her sister; a taste of his own brew would serve him well. “It would be terrible if someone were to ruin the gentleman’s plans”.

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Prologue

Her hand shook as she dipped the ink into the inkwell and waited for her rapidly beating heart to still. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and allowed the fresh morning air to fill her lungs. Her mother’s preferred scents, notes of rose and lavender, filled her lungs. Somewhere outside sparrows sang. She soaked in the day’s peace and exhaled before smoothing the sheet before her.

My beloved.

No, that wouldn’t do. He wasn’t her beloved. He didn’t know she felt such burning sensations when she thought of him, saw him, or spoke to him. He had no idea. And he never would. She balled the page up and tossed it into the fire where the bright orange flamed devoured it at once.

 Alexander, she wrote. Much better. Yes. Simple. To the point. That’s what she needed.

John Donne, the great poet, has inspired me with his words to the point where I feel a burning desire to share what is in my heart with you. I fear that if I do not, it shall consume me whole.

I have long loved you and admired you from afar. I have dreamed of you and what might be but never dared to make my feelings and desires known. A lady never ought to be forward and forthcoming with such things; we know this to be true. And yet, I cannot contain my feelings, and I must let them out, even if just in the form of this letter.

Dearest Alexander. The truth is, I love you with an intensity that cannot be put into words even though I know you have never looked at me with anything other than curiosity and sympathy, perhaps. It does not matter. I want you to know I adore you. I … I wish I could one day have the good fortune of looking you in the eyes and confessing how I feel, but I fear I shall never have the courage to do so.

But I dream that you will be inspired to love me as I love you, one day. That you will have the courage, I lack. It may be foolish, but such are my dreams and my hopes. And as a wise woman once said, if one doesn’t have hope, one has nothing.

I wish I were more eloquent in my writing, but I am afraid I lack the refined skill of a true poet. Thus, let me end my note here with the words that have led me to write to you in the first place—with the words of John Donne:

 

 If yet I have not all thy love,

Dear, I shall never have it all.

I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,

Nor can intreat one other tear to fall.

 

And all my treasure, which should purchase thee-

Sighs, tears, and oaths, and latters—I have spent.

Yet no more can be due to me,

 

Then at the bargain made was meant.

If then thy gift of love were partial,

That some to me, some should to others fall,

Dear, I shall never have thee all.

 

She sat back once she was satisfied that the letter expressed her innermost feelings. What would he make of it? Would he think she was foolish? Was she foolish? Perhaps she was making a cake of herself by even writing this.

No. The feelings that had festered within her all these years had to be expelled one way or the other. Besides, this was the perfect time to do so. Wasn’t it?

She sprinkled sand over the still-wet ink, allowing it to soak up the excess. Then, when she was satisfied her meticulous crafted words would not be smudged, she brushed away the sand and neatly folded the letter.

Outside, she heard pedestrians walking up and down her home while chattering. Horses neighed as they pulled majestic carriages, and the birds continued to sing.

She took another deep breath, flipped the paper over, and wrote the recipient’s name on the front. Finally, it was time to send her words on their way.

 

Chapter One

London, 1816

If yet I have not all thy love…

It wouldn’t fit. Lilian leaned back in frustration, disgustedly wiping at the tiny dot of sweat that had sprung up on her temples. She looked down at the small ornate box in her lap and sighed.

“Perhaps I should tear it a bit,” she said aloud, and silence echoed back at her. She was alone in her mother’s bedchamber, a rare moment for her. In all her ten-and-eight years, she’d always been in the company of someone else. If it was not her brother, then it was her mother. If not her mother, then it was her dear friend, Viola. And if it was neither of them, then her maid—Nancy—would be hovering over her shoulder with that blank look on her face. Somehow, Lilian had managed to escape to the solitude of her mother’s bedchambers to undertake this unexpectedly difficult task.

It was only because of what was happening downstairs in the manor that she could steal away in the moment. Right now, no one really cared that she had disappeared to the powder room for so long—though she wouldn’t be surprised to hear Nancy walking around in search of her. Lilian had limited time and she was going to make the best of it.

With a little smile, she tore the small slip of paper, taking care not to rip into the words she’d put her heart and soul into. Once she was done, she folded the paper twice and tried to fit it into the bottom of the box once more. This time, it slipped in easily.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, shooting to her feet. Then, feeling a little embarrassed at her unladylike outburst, she flushed and reclaimed her seat, though the smile did not dim. Lilian lifted the box to eye level, admiring the detailed carvings and shiny finishing, though she was well aware that she had no use for it.

It was just a snuffbox, after all. In her possession, it would remain empty, to be looked at and admired for its lovely ornaments and details. Even so, it would hold far more significance—all because of the tiny love letter she’d manage to fit into the false bottom under the box.

The love letter would never see the light of day again, she knew. She’d only written it to get her feelings out, to at least put into words all the emotions she had been holding in for years now. The man the letter was addressed to would never see it because, deep down, Lilian knew she did not stand a chance. She was neither pretty, nor demure, nor the perfect lady she was expected to be. He could do far better.

The thought stung a little, in all honesty. And thinking about him, about his lovely smile and the twinkle in his eyes, had her smile slipping as she sighed.

“If only I had been born with long and silky blonde hair, instead of curly auburn tresses,” she lamented, perching her chin on her hand. “If only I had bright blue eyes instead of dull green ones.”

“Lilian?”

Lilian jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. The beautiful Dowager Countess of Harenshire, Lady Georgia Cecil, frowned deeply as she crossed her arms and came further into the room. Lilian shot to her feet, resisting the urge to hide the snuffbox behind her since she’d already been caught.

“What are you doing in here?” Lady Harenshire asked. “I thought you had gone to the powder room.”

“I had,” Lilian lied easily, though her heart was beating rapidly. “But on my way back, I got distracted. You know how I am sometimes.”

“Yes, I do. Though I do not understand how you ended up in here.” Her mother came closer, eyeing the box. “What do you have in your hand?”

“Oh, this?” Lilian tried to quickly come up with something to say. She couldn’t tell her mother that she had spent the last twenty minutes undoing the false bottom and trying to fit a love letter inside. “I remembered when you’d returned home with it from shopping, and I wanted to see it again. It is just so beautiful, don’t you think? Just look at the ornaments affixed on it! I couldn’t help coming in here to admire it once more.”

“Well, you should take it all in while you can.” If Lady Harenshire was upset at Lilian for being in her room, she didn’t show it. Her mother could mask what she was thinking far too perfectly, which always made her too difficult to read. Her expression was as light and pleasant as it always was as she approached Lilian and took the box from her.

“Why?” Lilian asked.

The Dowager Countess’ brown eyes shifted from the box to her daughter, then back to the box. Only the front of her hair was pinned up, the back cascading past her shoulders like a dark wave. Lilian had always admired her beauty growing up and, now that Lilian was almost ready to debut, she doubted she had inherited her mother’s bewitching appearance.

“Because I bought it as a gift for Belinda,” Lady Harenshire stated matter-of-factly, referencing the Belinda Russel, the Duchess of Renford. “You know she is a collector of these boxes, though I must say that I cannot see the appeal. I would understand sculpture or perhaps even paintings, but snuffboxes? I will never understand, but I suppose I should support her in whatever she enjoys. Speaking of, have you seen Chantrey’s latest sculpture? It is simply magnificent!”

Lilian was suddenly crossed between rolling her eyes—a gesture her mother would scold her about for the next three days—and laughing at the way her mother sometimes rambled. She never did it before company, the years spent at a lady’s seminary in Bristol ingrained into her very being. But around family, Lilian had come to learn that her mother had a short attention span, a peculiarity that made her almost perfect mother seem adorable and down to earth.

Right now, though, Lilian was still a little on edge about being caught so she said, “No, I haven’t. But I’m certain Her Grace will enjoy it. Is that why you’ve come to your chambers? To bring it to her?”

“She will be leaving shortly, so now is the best time, yes.” Lady Harenshire turned and headed back to the door. Lilian dutifully followed. “And it is a good thing that I found you. It wouldn’t do for you to miss their departure.”

Yes, Lilian thought, her heart sinking, that simply wouldn’t do.

She knew exactly who else was waiting downstairs, which was partly the reason she had decided to come to her mother’s chambers.

“Could I keep this one?” Lilian asked as they set off down the hallway. “I really adore it and I’m certain Her Grace wouldn’t mind since she doesn’t know it even exists!”

“I can buy you another,” Lady Harenshire told her calmly. “I also wanted to thank Belinda for last night’s dinner so now is the perfect time for this gift.”

“But Mother—!”

“Are you so attached to this box already?” her mother asked, looking at her. Her tone, to the untrained ear, would have sounded slightly curious. But Lilian knew better. She was walking on thin ice and if she wasn’t careful, she would end up telling her mother everything about the little secret she’d just put in the bottom of the box.

It’s fine. The Duchess likes to put these down and admire them on her mantlepiece. She will never find the letter. No one will. It is fine.

There was every possibility that it would not be fine, of course, and her thudding heart only impressed this possibility upon her further, but she had to convince herself that it would, in fact, be fine. It had to be.

Still, the thought of parting with it so quickly made her heart ache a little. It was true that she hadn’t meant for anyone to see it, but she still wanted to have it around, to read it whenever she wanted.

Lilian shook her head at her mother’s question and, thankfully, nothing more was said between them. Even so, Lilian snuck a peek at her mother as they descended the grand staircase on their way to the drawing room. Lady Harenshire was the reason she decided to hide the letter after all, inspired by her mother’s past. When Lady Harenshire was younger—when she was green, unmarried, and in love—she would receive love letters from Lilian’s late father which had led to them falling in love. Before the Earl of Harenshire passed away from an illness, Lilian had often enjoyed his tales of the past and admired the fact that Lady Harenshire kept those letters to this day.

Lilian supposed she was doing things a little differently than her parents, but writing her feelings down made her feel much lighter.

As they approached the drawing room, however, Lilian’s heart began racing once more. She wasn’t ready to see him again. Not when she knew it might be the last time…

There was no delaying the inevitable though and, despite her reluctance, she sped up a little. She had to see him. Even though she knew it would hurt.

“Ah, there she is!” came a loud male voice the moment she and her mother stepped through the doors. “And here I thought I would have to go scouring the streets to find you again.”

“John!” Lilian exclaimed as her face went hot. “I haven’t done that in years.”

Laughter filled the lavishly decorated drawing room. Lilian kept her eyes on her brother’s humor-filled face and tried to ignore the deep laughter coming from the man sitting next to him.

The Duchess of Renford, chuckled behind her gloved hand. “Oh, stop it, John,” she chided Lilian’s brother. “You know she is far too old to be doing such things.”

“Oh?” John’s eyes twinkled with devilish mirth. They looked alike with the same featured and dark brown hair, though John’s eyes were brown where Lilian’s were green. “Lilian? Would you like to tell them about your latest adventure?”

“John, please leave me be,” Lilian said heatedly, quickly rushing to the armchair next to her mother. She was used her brother bringing up her old childish ways but for some reason, she couldn’t handle it today. Perhaps it was because she was feeling very much aware of her inadequacy after that letter.

“Latest adventure?” That deliciously deep voice sent shivers down her spine but instead of looking up, she kept picking at the ends of her sleeve. “Pray tell. It has been a while since I’ve heard of Lily’s time out of the manor.”

Lily. The nickname made her feel like a child.

“Did she not tell you?” John went on. “Mother and I both thought her days of sneaking out of the manor to walk the streets of London was long gone and yet, I returned home yesterday after a tiresome day to hear that she had walked all the way to Hyde Park! By the time she arrived, it was late afternoon, and her feet was so tired that she couldn’t walk back and so she sat there for hours.”

“Then how did she return home?” The Duchess asked, sounding rather interested in the story.

“Thankfully, one of the coachmen noticed her leaving and decided to follow behind with a carriage. He waited a bit but then when the sun began to go down, he approached her and carried her back home.”

“I hope you know how lucky you were, Lily,” his voice came again.

Heart skipping a beat, Lilian knew she couldn’t ignore him for any longer. So, she looked up, hating how brotherly he sounded.

Even so, he was still so perfectly handsome that it was almost unfair. The second son of the Duke of Renford, Alexander Russell, was everything she’d ever wanted in a companion, but he would never know. He would never know that her feelings began to grow at the tender age of ten-and five years, even though she’d known him for much longer. He would never know that she sometimes envied his friendship with her brother because that meant they spent a lot of time together, while she could only have supervised and platonic encounters like this. And while he’d always looked at her like a little sister, she looked at him like a man she wished to marry but couldn’t.

Life was so unfair sometimes.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to do that. It just…”

“Happened?” he supplied with a grin.

Lilian flushed further and nodded.

“Anyhow,” Lady Harenshire cut in, “I think it is time that you two take your leave. If you are here any longer, you will miss your ship.”

“You’re right, Mother,” John said as he got to his feet. Like a wave, Alexander did as well, then Alexander’s mother, then Lilian. Her chest caved in. They couldn’t leave yet. Not so soon.

“This is for you, Belinda,” her mother said as she gifted her dear friend the box. Lilian hardly heard the exchange that followed. She was far too busy fretting. Her fingers clenched as her breathing increased to a speed that made her fear she might go into apoplexy at any moment.

She was watching Alexander as he and John made their way to the door, clearly not caring much about what was happening between their mothers. Soon enough, they all began to make their way out and Lilian did the same, every step feeling harder than the last. The chatter continued but Lilian couldn’t focus on any of it.

Until they came to the front doors in the foyer, and she knew their time together would come to an end in a matter of minutes.

“Oh, John.” Lady Harenshire enveloped her eldest child into a warm hug, her voice cracking just a little. “I know I was the one who urged you to go on your Grand Tour, but now that you are leaving, I cannot help but feel sad.”

“You will have Lilian to keep your company, Mother,” John said gently. “Though perhaps she will not be as great company as I am.”

Lilian didn’t have the strength to roll her eyes at his good-natured teasing as she would have. In truth, she would miss him too. John and Alexander had meant to go on a Grand Tour around the world together since last year but, due to the late Lord Harenshire’s sudden death, it was put off. It was bound to happen though, because Lady Harenshire was adamant her son had the same experiences with travelling as her late husband had. Now that the time had come, Lilian was a little emotional herself.

“Don’t miss me too much,” John said to her as he pulled her into a hug.

“Impossible,” she answered honestly. “Don’t drive Alexander too insane.”

“Impossible,” he said back with a grin. Then he stepped back, giving Lilian a full view of Alexander once more.

She wasn’t prepared for his approach, though she knew it would happen. She managed to meet his baby-blue eyes, his blond hair falling over his forehead. Lilian considered throwing herself into his arms, but she stuck her hand out instead, knowing that was what she should do.

“Thank you for waiting for my brother to have your Grand Tour,” she said politely.

His warm hand grasped hers firmly and her knees went weak. “John is like a brother to me. It wouldn’t be a fun tour without him.”

“I’m sure Adrian would be hurt to hear that,” Lilian managed to joke, referring to Alexander’s real brother and the current heir to the Dukedom of Renford. At nine-and-twenty, Adrian Russel, the Marquess of Sterling, stood to inherit one of the largest dukedoms in the realm.

“He’ll be fine. He knows his place in my heart.”

They both laughed and for that moment, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world. But then the illusion was broken when he spoke again.

“You’d better not be betrothed when I return. Your groom should first be approved by your brother and I.”

It felt as if he’d just taken her heart out of her chest and stomped on it. Lilian couldn’t find the words to respond but she didn’t have to.

“We cannot promise that we’ll wait for you for her wedding,” her mother chimed in. To Lilian’s surprise, she seemed to be holding back her tears, though her expression was as pleasant as ever.

“Then make sure you choose wisely, Lily,” Alexander said with a grin. Then he turned around, not realizing the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to move as they continued their goodbyes and made their way out the door. She wanted to go to the window, to at least watch him climb in, but his words kept echoing in her mind.

Could she really be married by the time they returned? Could she really love another the way she loved him? Lilian couldn’t believe it possible, and the thought of them being away for so long…

Quickly, she turned and rushed up the staircase, hoping no one would call out to her. Thankfully, she could make her escape in peace, tears running down her cheeks in rivulets. Now that the love of her life was gone, it felt as if her life was falling apart.

And nothing would be the same again.

 

Chapter Two

Rome, 1818

Dear, I shall never have it all…

“I can hardly believe that it will be coming to an end soon.”

The lament was followed up with a sigh. Alexander looked over at his best friend, who was balancing on the two back legs of his chair with his leg propped on top of the balcony railings. Had it been anyone else, Alexander would have warned them against doing that, but because it was John—who did nothing without completely weighing the risks first—he only nodded in response to his statement.

“Neither can I,” Alexander said. “We’ve traveled the world for two years and it feels as if we haven’t seen everything there is to see.” He glanced out toward the Piazza di Spagna where they’d spent some time climbing the breathtaking Spanish steps earlier that day. John, an avid admirer of old churches, insisted upon also visiting Trinita dei Monti church at the top. While neither catholic nor especially interested in architecture, Alexander had been in awe of the plentiful artwork within. There was so much more to see in Italy, let alone the world. “Perhaps on our next tour, we will go to the north. To where the snow never dies, I hear.”

“You know I hate the cold,” Alexander said as he sipped his whiskey.

“And yet I doubt you will turn me down if I propose the trip. You’ve always been up to an adventure.”

A chuckle left Alexander’s lips at that. “God bless Adrian. Had it not been for him, I would not be afforded the luxury of adventure after adventure after all.”

John only sighed. “I envy you. I truly do.”

Alexander felt a twinge of pity for his friend, even though he knew John did not say it sadly. John’s father’s sudden death had left John with the title and a world of responsibility neither of them thought they would have to deal with any time soon. John, however, was one of the most responsible men Alexander knew and he had been handling his father’s death and the new title far better than Alexander ever could.

After two years away from his duties, Alexander knew that they had to return even though they had not seen everything they’d wanted to. They were now in Italy, taking in the lovely  sight of the flickering street lights that illuminated the darkened streets from their privileged spot on the balcony of their hotel. Unlike London, Rome did not yet have bright streetlamps, and lamp lighters made their way through the city each night to provide light. However, Alexander appreciated this. It felt more quaint, more romantic.

They planned on spending only a month in Italy before returning home and though the time seemed lengthy, Alexander knew it would be over in what felt like a second.

“Of course, you do,” Alexander went on as he got to his feet. He turned his back to the view and leaned against the railing with a grin. “I will return home to the wonderful life of bachelorhood where I can spend all my nights in my favorite club. I may even enjoy a courtesan or two. Not to mention the fact that the Season will already be in full swing so the events I can attend will be limitless.”

John scowled. “Are you showing off?”

“I most certainly am.”

His scowl deepened but Alexander could tell that John was trying to hold back a smile. “Don’t forget that you will have to have a family soon. Then you will have the same amount of responsibility.”

“Not nearly,” Alexander dismissed with a wave of his hand. “And I am still young, only six-and-twenty. I do not need to think about marriage for years to come.”

“I’m sure the Duchess of Renford will not think the same,” John said skeptically. “She may wish for you to marry the moment you set foot in London.”

“I can thwart my mother a while longer, I’m sure. Besides, she will be more concerned with making a match for Adrian, given that he is the heir and must have one of his own.” Alexander didn’t mind talking about his mother’s plans for him when he returned. He had been trying to lighten the mood for John and he was almost certain it had worked.

Before he got the chance to say anything else, there came the faint sound of a knock on the door. “Come in!” Alexander bellowed across the distance. When he did, his head swayed a little and he realized that he might be a little in his cups.

Even so, he was sober enough to watch as the receptionist of the hotel peeked her head in and then gingerly crossed the room to the balcony. She held out a letter and said, in a thick Italian accent, “This is for you Signore Russell. We received it from France.”

“For me?”

“Her Grace must miss you dearly,” John suggested, taking a large gulp of his drink. “And since we were in France last, she must have sent it there.”

Alexander set his drink precariously on the balcony railing and reached for the letter. Once it was out of her hands, the receptionist bowed her head in a slight nod and took her leave. Alexander was already breaking the Renford seal by the time she was gone.

He began reading, expecting to see something similar to all the other letters his mother had sent him over the past two years. Mostly, she would say how much she missed him, update him on all the gossip of the Ton, and mention a few names of ladies she thought would make a great wife for him. Alexander would always respond with an update as to where he was and what he was up to, then tell her that he had no plans to marry any time soon.

This letter was different.

His mother had never been very good at breaking bad news and this time was just the same. She always kept bad news short and not at all sweet. The death of their maternal grandmother had been announced curtly at dinner, just before their mother shut herself in her chamber for several days.

Now, over a letter, Alexander could only marvel at how frank she’d decided to be once more.

Your brother has passed away. He had gone looking for his dog during a thunderstorm. His horse was startled by a boom of thunder, threw him off, and he hit his head. He did not survive the night.

Mother.

“What is it?” came John’s voice. Alexander heard the worry and was certain his face showed just how horrified he was by the contents of the letter, but he could not find the strength to answer him. He simply passed his friend the letter.

Of course, it did not take John long to read it and when he was done, he came to a stand. “Alex…”

Alexander turned back to face the view of Rome but saw nothing but his brother’s smiling face. Three years his senior, Adrian had taken up the mantle as head of the household without complaint. It was his birthright after all, and yet he would always find time for his family. The last letter Alexander had received from him was filled with hope, of pages all about a lovely lady by the name of Catherine who Adrian wanted to marry.

He was about to begin a family. How could this happen now, when he was still so young?

Alexander didn’t know whether to cry or shout into the dark sky above him. A hand rested on his shoulder and John’s face appeared next to him.

“We shall begin our travel back to England first thing tomorrow,” John in a calming tone.

Though he knew John was only trying to comfort him in whatever way he could, Alexander shrugged his hand off.

“It seems we will both have responsibilities after all,” Alexander said bitterly before he walked off. Thankfully, John didn’t follow him, and he left the hotel minutes later without being stopped.

Alexander had admired the beauty of Rome and he was still not used to it. Right now, he could hardly see the street before him as he set off walking. He didn’t know how far he went nor how long he walked because all he could think about was that he would never see his brother again.

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Chapter One

Knight to H3?

Her father’s knight was now facing her king. One more move, and she would be in line for a frontal attack from the knight and the bishop at F7. Phoebe smiled. In moving his knight to that spot, her father had opened his defense, leaving her free to attack.

Phoebe stared at the board closely. Her father had made a blunder, and she intended to take advantage of it.

But what move to make?

Conscious that she may fall into a yet unseen trap if she wasn’t careful, she cast her eyes on the pieces arrayed as though in battle formation. A mistake now could tip the game against her. Studying the pieces for some inspiration, she folded her hands into a steeple and balanced her chin on it, her mind quick at work.

“Your move, ma chérie,” her father whispered.

“I am well aware, Papa. I need to think.”

“You can take all the time you want; it changes nothing. This game ended when you lost your queen.” He smiled as he leaned forward. “Admit it, my dear; I have won.”

Phoebe smiled back as she imagined the look on his face when she won in the end, as she generally did. The smirk on his face would fade into astonishment, then pride. Perhaps then he would not be so quick to dismiss her in the next…

Then she saw it.

Holding her breath, she moved her hand towards the chessboard and touched her pawn, pushing it one step diagonally…

And claimed his queen.

Her father’s eyes widened like saucers.

“How did I miss that? That was most unfair, ma chérie; were you waiting for that blunder?”

Phoebe smiled enigmatically. “You should know better than to underestimate me, Papa.”

A few more moves, and she had him in checkmate. He turned his king down in resignation with a sigh, his face weary.

“What is wrong, Father? It was just a game; we can play another if you like.” Even as she spoke, Phoebe knew it wasn’t the game that had her father bothered. They had always been well matched in chess, but he usually made her work harder to beat him. He had not been himself recently and it was beginning to worry her.

The look of his face was hollow. His eyes were unseeing as they remained on the board, his body leaning forward and his shoulders slouched.

He picked up her queen, twirling the piece admiringly in his hand. He had often called her his ‘petite reine’—little queen, and she always felt pleasure at the endearment. Reaching across the board, she touched him, taking his hand in hers.

“What is troubling you, Papa? You have been distracted lately.”

“I have? How so?” he asked.

“You have been playing differently. I thought perhaps you let me take your queen on purpose in the last game. But I can clearly see your mind is elsewhere. Won’t you tell me what is causing your worry?”

He sighed. “You know me too well, ma petite reine.” He had used the French inflection, a token of their many holidays in their country estate in Ville Lux de Borgamduc. Phoebe had never acquired the throaty rasp of her mother’s French heritage but enjoyed hearing her father use it. When they shared moments like this, hearing it from him was akin to being part of something special, something private that was entirely theirs.

“That I do.” She held onto his hand, waiting for him to answer her questions.

It became clear to Phoebe that whatever troubled her father was important. He seemed reluctant to tell her, but she knew he couldn’t keep secrets from her. He had vowed to her a month after they had shed their tears over a tombstone that he would never hide anything from her.

“I love you, ma chérie. More than anything in this world. And it is out of love that I must do this. For you.”

“Do what, Papa? Goodness, you are giving me a fright.”

“Let us play again,” he said. “I believe you owe me a rematch. Then we can discuss the matter.”

She pursed her lips. Her father could be intractable, and she knew she would gain nothing if she pressed further. Realizing the only way to make him confide in her was to indulge him, Phoebe began rearranging the pieces on the board. He placed her queen reverently on the board when the other pieces were arrayed.

He nodded, and she made her opening move.

A quarter of an hour later, she saw him relax as the game progressed. He was calmer, his body less taut, and she could see the twinkle return to his eyes. She drew her bishop from his territory; her father was intelligent—the most intelligent man she knew. He would know if she allowed him to win.

Instead, she gave him chances so subtle that he would never discover her strategy.

He looked at her suddenly, his finger hovering over his knight, and he sighed. At the sound, she looked down at his hand, not wanting to seem too eager. “I have decided to return to London. We shall depart in two days.”

She paused, turning her gaze from his hand to his face; there was no hint of indecision, his mouth set in grim determination. She moved her king away from his check and sat back to look at him intently.

“May I ask what has led you to this decision? I recall you promising Lord Allendale we would visit his estate Saturday next.”

He shrugged. “Matters have arisen that compel me to return. One of which concerns you. I had an interesting chat with Lady Fumberton and…”

Phoebe could not suppress her groan. Nothing good ever came out of a discussion with the ‘Grand Honorable Lady Fumberton,’ as she had heard her being addressed once. The woman had firm ideas on how a lady should act, and Phoebe, without a mother to guide her, had found herself the unwilling recipient of the other woman’s full attention far too often.

“And what did that esteemed lady suggest this time? New rules for sitting at dinner, or how I should spend more time practicing the pianoforte?”

Her father chuckled. “You could learn a great deal from Lady Fumberton. She is quite sharp, that one. But that is beside the point. She made an observation I find I must agree with.”

He faced her squarely, the game forgotten. “I have thought much of her suggestion and have decided that you should take part in the coming London Season.”

Phoebe was astounded into silence. This could not be happening. She had rejoiced when she and her father departed London for their country estate two years ago. The country air had been refreshing after the stifling atmosphere of London Society. She had thought she would never have to return to that uncomfortable existence.

Her first Season had been disappointing, to say the least.

She was supposed to have been a great success. She was young, beautiful, the daughter of an earl, and from one of the most illustrious families in Society. Everyone expected there to be throngs of suitors calling at her father’s house.

To her disappointment, she had had watched while other debutantes were courted and soon paired. She was surprised at the turn of events. She had thought that they were all fairly equal in birth, temperament, and looks, but while other became engaged swiftly, Phoebe had not had a single suitor.

She was labeled a hopeless wallflower, had retreated into herself, and was thankful when the Season ended and she could return to the country. Her father had tried to cheer her, promising to arrange for her to wed some noble of his acquaintance. Horrified at the notion of her father seeking a suitor for her, she refused, asking him for a respite from the marriage mart. He had acquiesced, and she hoped the matter would not arise again.

It seemed time had run out.

“You realize that all of London Society will have wondered where you have been these past two years. It is time for you to make your grand return to Society, Phoebe Lovelace.” He gave her a charming grin.

Phoebe was unamused. “And Lady Fumberton is responsible for this turn of events. Perhaps she should focus her energies on finding a suitor for her own hopeless…”

Her father narrowed his eyes at her, and she fell silent at once. She had pushed too far.

“It is my own fault. I have let you have your way for too long, and you have forgotten your manners. Perhaps a stay with Lady Fumberton would help you remember them.”

Her look of horror had him smiling again. Grateful for the change in his countenance, she bent her head, preferring to look at the chessboard.

“Need I point out that you are twenty years of age? The lady is correct. At the very least, you have to try again.”

“Why must I try again. Do you wish to see me leave you so soon?”

He shook his head. “You cannot stay with me forever, ma chérie, no matter how much I may want that. You must get married and have your own family. But first, you need a suitor, and for that you need to make an appearance in Society. You do not wish to become a spinster, do you?”

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, she thought. At least she would be free. Lady Gladwyn was a spinster, but she lived the magnificently scandalous life of an artist. Imagine traveling alone to all the cities on the Continent, without a care for the wagging tongues of the ton.

But she knew she could never be bold enough to emulate that woman. It would hurt her father too much if she lived outside Polite Society.

Instead, she hung her head in submission. “I do not wish to become a spinster. But I also have no wish to be paraded in front of the dandies of London, hoping one will take pity on me and offer marriage.” She took his hand in hers. “Can’t we stay here a little longer, Papa? You would miss the country dreadfully.”

“I would. However, it is more important that you make a match before it is too late. I promised your mother that I would ensure your happiness with a fine match worthy of you.” He had a sad expression on his face as he spoke.

Phoebe felt the stirrings of guilt. Perhaps she had been selfish. Surely, she could endure the Season long enough to please her father. At his mention of her mother, she felt tears at the back of her eyes. She missed her mother, of course, but her father had been the one constant for her entire life. She would do anything for him, even this.

“I have a condition,” she said, and her father looked at her eagerly.

Her father waved his finger. “Careful, ma chérie, that you do not ask for too much.”

She smiled. “Will you promise to walk with me at least once a week at Queen’s Park? I so loved the times when you took Mama and me there when I was little.”

A wistful look came over her father’s face. “Sometimes, I feel as though I can hear her voice, and I look around for her.” He reached over to run his fingers down her cheek. You look so much like her.” A knock at the door interrupted the moment.

“Enter!” Phoebe heard her father say.

The door opened, and Mrs. Coving entered the room. Folding her hands, she curtsied low as she stood before them. “My lord, my lady, your supper is ready.”

“We shall be down momentarily,” her father said, “Thank you, Mrs. Coving.”

Mrs. Coving bobbed again and left.

Turning to her, her father asked, “What say you, mon gateau? Will you go with me to London?”

She made a face. “So now I am your cake? What manner of cake? I hope you are not thinking of me as a fruitcake!”

“Ah! Mon sucre, then?”

“Oui. Sugar is better, for it is always sweet and untainted by other flavors. And yes, I will go with you to London.” Despite her reservations, she was willing to try, for her father.

His grin was infectious. “This makes me so happy, ma chérie. I promise you the best of everything.”

Her eyes lit up. “Anything I want?”

“Perhaps. For now, I shall get you a new mare to ride in Hyde Park.”

She clapped her hands excitedly.

“This will be wonderful,” her father continued. “You will be a great success this Season. I just know it.”

Her father spoke of all the dresses he would buy her. Of the balls and many suitors. Of the thrill of being courted and all the flowers that would grace their home once the young bucks of London discovered what a treasure she was. She could imagine it all but did not have the same faith in her ability to charm that her father had. She would try for him, though.

“Shall we retire to dinner?” she asked, pushing her anxieties aside.

He looked up at her. “Yes. But first, we must finish our game.”

Phoebe scoffed. “I have already defeated you.”

“A mare and a new necklace if you win.”

She smiled slowly, confidently, as she moved her queen past his flanks to capture the pawn covering his king.

“Checkmate!”

 

Chapter Two

Fingers sliding down his chest stroked him lightly. He could hear her voice in his ears, her hand snaking down and scraping her nails on his thighs as she brushed her other hand against his erection.

His breathing was harsher now.

He froze as her hand wrapped around his throbbing erection and squeezed. Her hand was soft but firm, sending waves of pleasure through him as she stroked. He could not see her face, but he felt her, the torment of her hands on him, and his body tightening as his climax approached….

He awoke.

Skin slick with sweat, he could feel the evidence of his dream bulging proudly. Under the sheets, he knew he was naked, and the softness of the sheets against his bare flesh was arousing.

He opened his eyes gingerly, the rays of the morning light shining brightly through the open curtains.

Sitting up abruptly, he was surprised at an unfamiliar weight around his midsection and looked down. A leg lay across him, and his eyes followed the uncovered flesh up to shapely thighs and…

Damn. How much had he had to drink last night that he had ended up falling asleep here? Never before had he been so careless.

Swearing to himself, Lord Carter Ravenel, twelfth Duke of Ravenwood, rake, rogue and sexual conquistador of London’s finest belles, tried to lift the leg that encumbered him from leaving the bed.

He hoped to escape before waking the lady. Wanda Finch, the Countess of Firanwood, was the last person he should have let his guard down with. What the hell had he been thinking, getting entangled with her again? She was an adequate lover, more than adequate, to be sure, but she had trouble separating sexual desire from romantic feelings. The last thing he needed was more histrionics from the woman, and in her husband’s house. Why had he allowed her to ply him with brandy the night before, knowing he would succumb to her salacious suggestions?

He forced himself to slow down. If he moved too fast, his companion would awaken, and he didn’t want to deal with the scene that would follow. Gently, he thought to himself.

The leg moved of its own accord as the sleeping woman turned in her sleep. Her back was to him, and the sight of her bare derriere caused him a moment’s pause as his member throbbed. She had a fantastic arse, but he needed to leave immediately.

Stifling a groan, he began to move slowly out of bed when he felt a hand on his arm.

Blast!

Cursing silently, he closed his eyes, hoping she was still asleep.

“Carter?”

Too late now. He turned to face her, pulling the sheets up to hide the evidence of his arousal. Her eyes followed the movement, and her hand reached out to tug at the sheets.

“What are you hiding down there, Your Grace? Don’t tell me you have grown shy? Or are you playing coy?” She was already rising, her tongue darting out to lick at her lips. She pushed him on his back and straddled him.

“Wanda,” he began patiently, “It is morning. I must be getting home.”

She ignored him and trailed her hands down his chest, her fingers tracing small circles on the hard planes.

“Never say you are tired of me already. I will never tire of you. I am yours,” she tweaked his nipple, “always and forever.”

He disengaged her hand gently. Her declaration had killed any lingering arousal he might have had. He had to be cautious in rebuffing her advances. Wanda was as unpredictable as a summer storm.

“I believe you stood up in a church and pronounced to the world that you belonged to another, my lady. I must depart before your husband returns.”

She folded her hands on her chest and pouted.

“Have you forgotten so soon? I told you, my husband is away. He shan’t be back until next week. We can spend the next five days in this bed indulging our every fantasy,” she purred.

“I’m afraid that is not possible,” he said, rising. “I must leave now. I have an appointment with Leona, and I don’t wish to be late.”

“And your sister is more important than me?”

Ignoring her, he pushed her gently off him and got up. After a quick glance around the room, he found his discarded clothes and began to dress.

“Why don’t I come with you to your appointment? I would love to see your sister.”

Carter stopped fastening his breeches and turned wide eyes to her.

“You want me to bring you into my sister’s home? As whom, my married lover? That is absurd, Wanda. What we sometimes do in bed has nothing to do with my life or family. We have enjoyed each other’s bodies, that is all.”

She folded her arms across her bare breasts. “I want more, Carter. Why can’t I be a bigger part of your life?”

Sighing, he threw his shirt over his head and sat down on a settee to pull on his boots. “You are married; there is nothing more to be said. I have enjoyed our dalliances, Wanda. But questions such as these show me that our time together must come to an end for good. I am sorry if that pains you, but it is time to part ways.”

Without giving her a chance to react, he stood and strode out the door. He could hear her outraged shriek as he hurried down the stairs and out of the back door to the mews. Perhaps he could have been a little kinder to her, but in all honesty, he had grown tired of her clinginess. Making a clean break was best for them both.

Once he reached his carriage, he hailed his driver, Thomas.

“Good morning, Your Grace. Will we be heading straight for your sister’s home? Or do you wish to stop and change?” his coachman asked, pointedly looking at Carter’s disheveled clothes and messy hair.

Blast it. The man was right. He could not arrive on Leona’s doorstep dressed in last night’s rumpled attire, smelling like sex.

“Home first, if you please, and make haste,” Carter replied as he climbed into the carriage.

An hour later, he was on his way to Watersdale Manor. The weather was warm, and the sun stood high in the sky when Thomas halted the carriage outside the manor’s gates. A footman hurried to open his door. Carter climbed down the carriage steps.

“Thank you,” he said, walking past the man to the front door of Leona’s mansion. Her butler bowed deeply when he ascended the steps.

“Welcome, Your Grace. We have been expecting you.”

Carter nodded slightly. “Where is my sister?”

“Follow me, please.” The butler led him through the halls into a drawing room at the back of the manor. Alone in the room, Carter looked at the furniture and trappings on the walls. Leona had been fortunate. She had married the Marquess of Watersdale in her first Season as a debutante. The marquess was both wealthy and well respected. It was a brilliant match, if not one of love.

The significant challenge to their marriage was that the man was never around; he went abroad often, leaving Leona alone in their grand home. While his sister would occasionally complain of being left on her own, Carter secretly believed she enjoyed the solitude her husband’s frequent absences afforded her.

If he had been in her place, he would have thrown scandalous balls that would be talked about for years, showing the ton that she had no problem being neglected by her spouse. But that was not his sister’s way.

Picking up an antique dagger displayed on the sideboard, he held the blade up to the light streaming in through the open French doors and admired its craftsmanship. The knife was sheathed in gold, with tiny precious stones set into the curved hilt.

A gift fit for a king.

A sound behind him made him turn around.

“That is an ancient Egyptian mummification blade. It was a gift from Sir Oswald Cromsby.”

Leona stood in front of him in a casual garden dress with her hair down. She looked different. Out of the stiff formal gowns he often saw her wearing, she appeared more youthful, carefree, like the little girl he had taught to fish so many years ago.

He put the knife back in its place and smiled at her.

“Hello, little Sister. How have you been?” he asked, walking to her to hold her hands in his.

She took a step back, her gaze assessing.

“What is the matter, my dear? Have I done something to upset you again?”

She frowned, her eyebrows raised. “Did you not get my invitation, Carter? It was sent a week ago.”

He grimaced. In truth, he had rarely been home of late, preferring to spend his time on more pleasurable things than meetings with his steward and sifting through endless piles of correspondence.

Seeming to read his mind, Leona added, “You haven’t bothered to go through your invitations, have you? Why are you so intent on drinking, gambling, and cavorting your way through all of London?”

Her words were censorious, each one like a lash. “You make drinking, gambling, and cavorting seem like bad things,” Carter quipped, hoping his irreverent smile would melt her ire. “What was the invitation for?”

“Why are you late?” she countered.

He sighed. “I apologize. Something came up that I had to sort out. What was the invitation for?”

“A party for mother’s birthday, which you would have known about if you had read the letter I sent with the invitation.”

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Prologue

There was nothing more human than to dance. It encapsulated so much of the human experience: gratitude, joy, passion. One need not be an expert to enjoy a dance, all that was required was a willing heart and an aspiring spirit. As Holly Walsh watched the gentlemen and ladies of the Ton dance across the polished parquet floor, she wondered if she would ever find her own perfect dance partner. A man who could share her joys and fears alike. Who would allow her to dance like no one else was in the room.

Holly had spent a year dancing at society parties. Only one man really captured her imagination. What, she reasoned, was the point in wasting her time and energy dancing when there was only one man she could ever want?

It was that particular man her eyes followed most closely. He was an excellent dancer; nimble, graceful, and assured. More than once, Holly considered moving seats to meet his eye but feared, as time went on, that such a ploy would prove obvious and indelicate.

There was a loud exhalation of breath as her friend, Sybil, slumped into the empty chair beside her. “Are you going to dance at all, or are you just going to stare at everyone else dancing?” Sybil asked.

Color rose to Holly’s cheeks. “I was not staring.”

Sybil raised an eyebrow. “Then what does one call looking fixedly at someone with eyes wide open?”

“Observing,” Holly said with a small smile.

Sybil stifled a laugh. “Observing, indeed.”

Holly raised her chin and watched the man glide across the ballroom floor. At the corner of her vision, she caught Sybil following the line of her sight and noticed who she was staring at.

Sybil narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you are looking at—”

“Good evening, ladies,” came a low baritone from behind them.

They both turned around in surprise. Standing behind them, dressed in a dark velvet tailcoat above a white cravat, was Sybil’s father—Lord Thomas Spencer, Earl of Spiningdale. The ladies rose to their feet and curtsied as Lord Spencer inclined his head in a small bow.

“There is a young gentleman I would like you both to meet,” said Lord Spencer gesturing over his shoulder.

A man appeared from behind him in a dark burgundy tailcoat and even darker cravat. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a prominent jaw. He gave a deep bow as Lord Spencer made the introduction.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said with a smile as his glance settled on Sybil.  “I must ask, Lady Sybil if you would be so kind as to favor me with a dance.”

Sybil glanced once at her father, who gave an approving nod, then at the tall gentleman who stood before them, then at Holly last of all.

“It would be my pleasure,” Sybil said with a smile, and they walked toward the parquet floor.

Lord Spencer gave a polite nod and strode off to view the dance closer. Holly breathed a gentle sigh of relief as she was left alone again. She was not prepared to tell anyone quite yet that she was captivated by Harold Exley, the Duke of Exenwood. That was a secret she intended to keep for as long as possible. She searched the dancefloor for him once again, but he had disappeared. She hissed out a breath and sank back into her seat.

It had been three years since she first laid eyes on the Duke of Exenwood in her father’s study.  He had dark, sand-hued eyes and thick black hair that cascaded down his shoulders. His smile was his greatest asset—a smile beautiful enough to chasten or charm almost anyone the man wanted. It unsettled Holly how he could be so impossibly handsome and yet still so gentle in countenance and possessed of self-command. What more could anyone want in a husband?

She searched the dancefloor for him once more and found His Grace had not returned. She tapped her foot impatiently as she glanced over her shoulder to search the other half of the room, and her eyes fell almost immediately on the man himself. At his side was his mother, the Dowager Duchess of Exenwood, a close friend of Holly’s mother.

It was not until the Duke of Exenwood’s eyes met her own that Holly realized that the man was walking toward her. She nearly swallowed her tongue as her heart began to thump sharply at her chest. He is coming this way! To speak to me!

She gulped down a breath, wondering if this would finally be her moment. Will he finally ask me to dance?

His Grace was a few years older than her and had only ever been perfectly polite, but something about the look in his eyes gave Holly the impression that this time might be different. That he would finally see her as more than the daughter of his business associate.

She straightened and wet her lips as he approached.

“Lady Holly Walsh,” he said with a subtle bow, “how wonderful to see you again.”

“Your Grace,” Holly said with a curtsey, before repeating the gesture to his mother, “and Your Grace.”

His mother smiled, and Holly saw that the woman had the same perfect smile that the Duke had.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” the Duke asked, teasing a smile.

Not ‘til just now, Holly wanted to say. Instead, she said, “The Earl and Countess of Spiningdale certainly know how to throw a fantastic event.”

His smile widened. “They certainly do, I have had a wonderful time dancing this evening. Though I do not recall seeing you on the dancefloor, Lady Holly Walsh.”

Holly’s heart started to thump hard against her chest. This is it. He is finally going to ask me to dance.

“I have wanted to dance, I have only been waiting for a good dance partner,” she said fluttering her eyelashes ever-so-slightly. Just enough to prompt his invitation for a dance.

His mother gave an obliging smile as he leaned in and whispered, “I am sure a good dance partner will come along soon, Lady Holly.”

Holly let out a sharp gasp as the Duke pulled back from her.

“Do enjoy the rest of your evening, Lady Holly Walsh,” he said, turning away with his mother.

Holly watched him leave with open-mouthed awe. She had given him every opportunity to dance with her and he respectfully declined. She was mortified.

The duke had danced with more than half the eligible ladies in attendance and still was not prepared to offer her a single dance. Her chin sank into her neck as she sagged back into her seat.

At the edge of the dancefloor, the Duke parted ways with his mother and turned back toward Holly. Their eyes met and her heart started to beat again. He was coming toward her. She clutched tight around her arm rest as he drew nearer with each step. At last, he stood in front of her and gave her that wonderful smile.

“Actually, it occurred to me that you might not be quite so averse to dancing with me. Would you favor me with a dance, Lady Holly?”

Holly colored violently, her heartbeat quickening as she opened her mouth to speak. “I would like that, Your Grace,” she managed with an effort.

He escorted her to the dancefloor with typical grace and bowed low as the orchestra struck up the chords for the upcoming dance set. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as she stared into his eyes and then the music began to play. They danced with all the grace of veterans, smooth and seamless as they glided across the parquet floor. She felt watching eyes as they got closer, but paid them no mind, this was the beginning of her most desired dream, she would let nothing ruin that moment. She leaned into him, her head almost resting on the underside of his chin. Warmth shot through her from inside. The music slowed and she felt his hand tighten around hers.

They talked of things of trivial importance as they danced, and Holly noticed his attention wavered every so often as they moved across the floor.

“Is there something on your mind, Your Grace?” she asked as they backtracked across the dancefloor.

He stared down at her as though seeing her for the first time. “I beg your pardon, My Lady?”

“You seem distracted,” Holly said.

He slipped into an easy smile, changing the topic effortlessly, “I must say, you are a wonderful dancer, Lady Holly.”

She smiled. “As are you, Your Grace.”

She looked up at him and noticed his eyes were wandering again. This time she followed his gaze and saw his focus was locked intently on one woman in particular. Slender, with even complexion and hair piled on her head in brunette curls. Everyone in the ballroom knew who she was. Lady Viola Acton, the Diamond of the Season.

Holly felt her stomach churn as she watched the Duke. The desire in his eyes was clear as he watched the woman. If she had any doubts, they had been resolved by that stony resolution as he stared at Lady Viola Acton.

The dance came to an end and the Duke excused himself with polite haste. Holly returned to her seat to spectate and noticed that the Duke had shifted across the hall to speak to Lady Viola. Her eyes widened as she watched. Before the orchestra had even played a testing tune, he was escorting Lady Viola to the very center of the dancefloor.  His smile wide and proud as she stood next to him.

The orchestra struck up a waltz and that served to set Holly’s stomach to churning once more. Together, they proceeded to dance with all the wordless passion that Holly had wanted for herself. Her eyes must have been etched with jealousy, but she did not care as she stared at them. They danced close and smooth, speaking in whispers, laughing all the while. If the Duke had seemed distracted while dancing with Holly, it was because she was not the true object of his focus. Now the truth was laid bare. Lady Viola had all his attention. Not once did his eyes leave her as they danced. Their waltz was one of peerless grace. They moved with all the perfection of veteran dance partners giving a signature performance. With each moment, Holly’s hopes grew smaller and smaller. She gritted her teeth as she found the strength to turn away. Somehow, some way, she had to help the Duke see that his happiness lay in her and not in Lady Viola Acton. How could she ever love him, the way Holly so evidently could? It simply was not possible. One way or another, I am going to make you see me…Your Grace.

Chapter One

 

Nicholas watched the dice roll to a stop at the corner of the table. There was a lull in the music as the orchestra dulled to strike up a new song.

“Four!” called the waist-coated dealer loudly enough for all to hear. A quiet chorus of jeers sounded around the table as they watched Nicholas’s rotten luck grow even more rotten. The dealer swiped away a gut-wrenching portion of his chips with not so much as a consolatory glance. This had not been his night, but like his father, Nicholas always believed that his luck was just a moment away from turning. In his father’s words, “Your next win is just a roll of dice away.”

He frowned as he took a long gulp from his whiskey glass.

Connor, his dearest friend, put a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Tonight is not your night, Nicholas, give up.”

Nicholas stared at Connor as he drained the rest of his drink in a single conclusive gulp. “You know me, Connor. I don’t ever give up.”

A grin blossomed on his face once more as he pushed the rest of his gambling chips to the center of the table and nodded to the dealer. “Let’s deal again, shall we?”

Connor’s mouth fell open as he saw Nicholas’ outrageous bet. He babbled something under his breath as Nicholas picked the dice up. “Nicholas, I—”

Nicholas stilled him with an outstretched hand. “Connor, tonight is the last night of our grand tour. It will not end in ill luck. Trust me.”

Connor straightened and shook his head. “All right then.”

With a single-handed flourish, Nicholas snatched the dice from the table and threw them in the air. They somersaulted twice and landed side-by-side at the corner of the table.

“Seven!” the dealer announced.

The crowd exploded in cheer. Nicholas’ face did not change. He moved with inhuman calm as he scraped the sum total of his winnings from the center of the table.

Connor watched, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You are one lucky man.”

Nicholas wagged a finger at him. “What do I always tell you, my good man? There is no such thing as luck.”

Connor smiled as he leaned back into his chair, stretching arms wide across the arm rest. They had enjoyed many good nights at Denton’s Gentlemen’s Club. Situated at the corner of St. James Square, it was a place where all men of means met to revel in the merits of their station. What set the club apart was its famous policy of secrecy—whatever happened at Denton’s stayed at Denton’s. No stories left its doors.

Nicholas had both his father’s reputation as a gambler of wicked luck and his father’s golden membership token, stamped by the late Sir George Denton himself. It felt good to be back within the walls of the Denton’s Gentlemen’s Club after so many years away. On this, the very last night of their grand tour, Nicholas was determined to have his fair share of fun and frivolity to take his mind from the troubles that always seemed to resurface whenever he returned to London.

“What’s on your mind?” Connor asked, shaking him from his contemplation.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Why do you suspect something is on my mind?”

“You never play dice games. You’ve always told me that card games are the only true sport here and you have that faraway look in your eyes—like you are only half here.”

Nicholas gave a deep sigh. Connor knew him far too well.

“It is my mother,” Nicholas admitted.

Connor leaned forward. “What is wrong with her? Is she all right?”

Nicholas nodded. “She is fine, it is just…” He hesitated a moment, then continued, “…she is particularly keen that her wishes for my future be hastily accomplished in marriage.”

Connor laughed. “Ah, she is putting you on the marriage mart.”

Nicholas nodded. “She is. I understand she has already drawn up a list of veritable dowdies who would make a suitable match on account of their family connections and station.”

“Is that not a good thing? Do you not want to be married? You are certainly old enough now Nicholas.”

Nicholas narrowed his eyes. “I do want to be married. I truly do. But not on anyone else’s terms but my own and certainly not now. I would much rather learn the intricacies of business and commerce with my father than be tied down in marriage to the bore or dowdy of my mother’s choosing.”

Connor snorted. “What does your father think?”

“My father and I are quite aligned. His pre-eminent concern is to bring me into the folds of the family shipping business and tutor me in the ways of commerce. He wants me to be a captain of the industry before I am completely in my middle years.”

“And that is what you want?” Connor asked.

Nicholas sighed. “What I want is not quite so simple as any option my father and mother have provided. In all things my utmost desire is to live in fullness. In matters of both business and marriage I want my life to be prosecuted with a measure of beauty, passion, and perspective. Is that too much for one too ask?”

“Far too much,” Connor said with a laugh.

Nicholas gave a small grin. “In either case, my parents are almost at odds over the entire matter. I fear they will go to the grave fighting over my future.”

“There are a great many benefits to being a bachelor,” Connor said, “freedom most of all.”

He gestured around the room, decorated with gilded columns and pilasters, glimmering medallions and elaborate cut-glass luster.

Nicholas nodded. “I think that is what I want most of all. Freedom.”

Nicholas summoned a waiter and collected two glasses of whiskey. He passed a glass to Connor and raised the other high. “A toast to freedom,” Nicholas said.

“To freedom!” Connor agreed.

Their glasses made a soft clink when they touched, and they threw back their drinks.

Almost as soon as their drinks were gone, some women strode into the room. Connor’s laughter retreated to silence as he narrowed his eyes on the woman at the head of the group. She was slender, with even complexion. Her dress was tight to her form; it was a stunning red velvet without a hint of frippery. She smiled at them as she walked, each step an act of practiced grace.

She walked past them, and Nicholas took in the thick powdery musk of her perfume.

Connor licked his lips with anticipation as he followed them with his eyes. “What a wonderful night this might turn out to be.”

Nicholas straightened as he gave his friend an appraising look. In their five years on grand tour, Connor Walsh had proven himself to be a flirt of incredible repute. Only a few moments in the company of women was enough to set them to giggling and fluttering eyelashes. Hardly a city, town, or village passed them by on grand tour without Connor enticing one woman or the other to complete ruination. Daughters and sisters across the land had all been taken in by his playful grin and bottomless charm on their travels. But this was London.

Connor glanced over his shoulder at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that we are home now. I am certain that your uncle, the Duke of Waleshire, will not be pleased if you earn a reputation as a rogue in London.”

Connor shrugged his hand away. “I understand His Grace has his own hands quite full trying to marry his daughter off. Word is, she has rejected more suitors than all the women in London combined.”

“Even still. You can manage not being an unconscionable flirt for at least one night, I hope.”

Connor let his shoulders fall and raised his chin. “I suppose,” he said, turning his grin away from the women. “I suppose I should behave more like you tonight.”

Connor had not meant it as an insult but somehow it still managed to feel like a slight. Nicholas had—even as children—always been the more cautious of the pair when it came to women. He had just as much charm and self-command as Connor, but he always felt himself choosing to be reserved when in the company of women who did stimulate his intrigue. He would much rather spend his time in solitude than in the company of a woman who lacked the humor, intelligence, and wit to engage him in body and mind. The pursuit of women whose only interest in men blossomed on account of the largesse of their legacy did not interest him in the same way that it did Connor. If he was to pursue a woman in earnest, it had to be real and true.

He turned to his friend Connor and gave him a wide smile. “Perhaps we should play a game of Whist instead? It has been a while since we had the prospect of good opposition.”

Connor nodded with approval. “I would enjoy that.”

The hall before them was filled with groups of men playing games of chance, skill, and utter ruination. Here and there, courtesans prowled the room with feline grace, crooning and fluttering fans.

Nicholas directed his friend to a small table where a group of gentlemen were engaged in a game of Whist. They were allowed to join and Nicholas could immediately tell that these were men of some skill by the way the cards were dealt and handled.

As Whist partners, Connor and Nicholas were a formidable pair; the perfect balance of caution and imprudence, recklessness, and contemplation. Connor had a mind for the cards and a habit of reading his opponents gestures and manners to devastating effect. Nicholas was judicious and cool in his evaluation of the game.

They played and drank with equal gusto, allowing themselves to revel completely in this their last night of grand tour, the conclusion of one adventure-filled chapter and the inevitable introduction of another equally adventurous experience.

After their third round of whiskey, Connor slapped Nicholas around the shoulder with a wide, delirious smile. “Welcome back to London, my friend. We are going to have a fantastic time.”

Chapter Two

 

Holly tapped her foot silently as Mr. Winstead, the house butler, placed their teapot at the center of their table. There were four other women seated around the table—each one of them at least twice Holly’s age. Her mother, Jane Walsh, the Duchess of Waleshire, was the oldest of the women and in many respects their leader. She stared intently at Holly as the tea was poured into their cups. Holly avoided her gaze by staring up at the mural which adorned the drawing room ceiling, pretending not to notice the hot attention on her.

“So, Holly,” her mother began, “how was the Spiningdale Ball?”

Holly squirmed in her seat. It was getting more difficult with each passing event to explain to her mother why she had rejected the advances of the many eligible men who offered to dance with her.

“It was wonderful,” she lied.

The Duchess of Waleshire narrowed her eyes. “I did notice you dance with someone. His Grace, the Duke of Exenwood.”

Holly colored violently. She had hoped her mother hadn’t noticed.

“Yes, I did dance with His Grace,” Holly admitted.

Her mother’s lips curled into a smile. “Excellent. Tell me, did you let him know that the doors of Waleshire Manor are always open to him? He is of course a good business acquaintance of your father.”

Holly nodded. “I know and I am sure he knows he is welcomed here.”

The Duchess looked unimpressed but gratefully did not press the matter. “I am only looking out for you my dear daughter. I want you to be happy and to marry well.”

“I know, Mother,” Holly said.

“You have had so many eligible suitors. I hope this will be the Season you finally settle on one.”

Holly lowered her eyes. “I hope so, too.”

She sincerely did hope so. She hoped to settle on the one. Dancing at the ball had only strengthened the notion that the Duke of Exenwood was the perfect match in every way. Handsome, polite, gentle, and passionate. Everything she could ever want in a husband. She only needed to resolve the small matter of Lady Viola and help the Duke see that they were meant for each other.

Sybil’s mother, the Countess of Spiningdale took a small sip from her teacup and cleared her throat. “You have the most fantastic cheekbones, dear Holly, and your complexion is rather wonderful. I am almost certain that the right partner will come your way soon.”

Holly gave a small smile. “Thank you, My Lady.”

She retrieved a bundle of papers, tied together with a small bow, and began to slowly untie the collection. Holly knew that the papers could only be the gossip sheets from the last week. Women like her mother and Lady Sybil were known to devote hours to speculating and discussing the scandals contained in the gossip sheets until their tea ran cold. In truth, Holly had always believed that the true object of her mother’s routine tea parties was to discuss the latest scandal detailed in the gossip columns.

Holly herself was never fond of the gossip columns. She found them often to be full of idle speculation and sometimes even cruel in their allusions. It was rare for names to be published, but the codes and aliases used to disguise the identity of the subjects were deliberately easy to see through—especially for the women around her mother’s table.

“Have we read this week’s gossip sheets?” Lady Sybil asked.

She had asked the question with a cool, inexpressive glance as though it was not of great importance. But Holly knew that the scandal reports were the chief entertainment for all these gatherings.

“Not yet,” Holly’s mother said, “nothing interesting this week.”

Lady Sybil pulled the first paper from the bundle as though seeing it for the first time. She retrieved her horn-rimmed eyeglasses and read aloud:

“The Duke and the Diamond.”

Holly felt her heart sink. The Duke and the Diamond. There was no doubt whom the headline was referring to. The Diamond had been the subject of many gossip columns in the weeks since the Season began. It could only be Lady Viola Acton. The Duke then, could only be the Duke of Exenwood. Harold. Her Harold.

Holly’s mother gave her a brief, appraising glance before turning to Lady Sybil. “What does it say?”

Holly raised her teacup to her mouth to cover her quivering lips.

Lady Sybil cleared her throat. “It says here that His Grace, one of London’s most eligible young gentlemen, was seen having ices at Gunter’s Tea Shop with none other than the Diamond of the Season.”

Only when her teacup shattered on the drawing room table did Holly realize that it had slipped from her grasp. She jerked back as the hot tea spilled over the sides of the table down unto her dress.

Mr. Winstead appeared at her side, using a hand towel and apron to wipe down the spillage before it could stain the carpet.

“Are you all right, Holly?” her mother asked.

Holly narrowed her eyes and nodded. “I am fine, Mother, just …tired.”

All four women gave her a puzzled look before Lady Sybil lowered her teacup. “Should I go on?” she asked, staring down at the open gossip sheets.

Holly’s mother gave her a questioning look. Plainly the woman wanted Holly to be a part of the discussion but only if the revelations in the gossip column would not startle her.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Holly said pushing her seat back slightly, “I need to go to change my dress, it has been stained.”

Holly’s mother gave her a mournful look but nodded. “Do come back.”

Holly nodded. “I will, Mother.”

With that, she left the table in haste. Before she was out the door, she could already hear her mother restart the gossip with her friends. Her cheeks were hot with color as she broke off into the corridor and up the stairs that led to her bedchamber. She stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind her as she slumped to the floor. The Duke and the Diamond.

If she knew anything about the gossip columns, they would feature the story for at least the next week. Every article with more particular detail of the liaison between the Duke and the Diamond—what flavor their ices were, how long they spent, how much they smiled.

Holly glanced at herself in the mirror. How could she stand a chance against someone like Lady Viola Acton? A lady who had been named the Diamond of the Season with no objection from the rest of the Ton. She was not quite as tall as Lady Viola, nor was she as slender. Her hair fell in silky golden tresses, and her eyes were the bright cerulean of the deep sea. Her cheekbones at least were well regarded but she felt as though she was no competition to the likes of Lady Viola Acton.

A knock sounded at her door as she stared in the mirror.

“Who is it?”

The voice that answered was strong and assured, “your mother.”

Holly straightened and answered the door.

The Duchess of Waleshire seemed to glide into the room, her chin raised and her back straight as she moved. She was what Holly wanted to be in so many ways—elegant, beautiful, always in control.

“Your guests, Mother,” Holly said.

The Duchess made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “They will be fine, I just wanted to make sure that you were quite all right. You seemed quite shaken in the drawing room a moment ago.”

Holly drew in a deep breath. “I am fine, Mother. Thank you.”

The Duchess brushed a tress of hair aside and cradled Holly’s chin. “You are so beautiful Holly, and intelligent and bright. I hope you know that your father will do anything and everything within our power to give you what you want in life.”

Holly nodded. “I know, Mother.”

The Duchess smiled. “There are some things of course, we cannot give to you, but sometimes what you want is not what you need.”

Holly snorted, unsure if her mother referred to the Duke of Exenwood but managed to keep her expression even. “I—”

Another knock sounded at the door. Both Holly and Her Grace glanced instinctively at the door.

“Who is it?” Holly asked.

“Miriam, My Lady,” came the pitched, diffident voice of her lady’s maid.

Holly stepped toward the door and opened it. Miriam stood in the doorway, brushing her hands over her apron nervously.

“Some more guests have arrived, My Lady,” she said, glancing past Holly to the Duchess.

“Guests?” the Duchess asked, striding forward.

Miriam nodded. “The Honorable Mr. Connor Walsh.”

The Duchess gave a small smile. “At last, Connor has returned from his grand tour.” She eased past Miriam into the corridor. “I will leave you to tend to your dress, Holly. I must attend to your cousin.”

“Of course, Mother,” Holly replied.

With that, her mother nodded and followed Miriam down the corridor. Holly shut the door behind them and quickly began to find an appropriate dress. It had been at least five years since she had seen her cousin Connor and she was quite eager to see him again. It was a welcome distraction if nothing else. Anything to take her mind from the Duke and the diamond.

The dress she thought most appropriate was not in her wardrobe and she scratched her chin wondering as to its whereabouts. The scullery. Some of her clothes had only just last week been laundered.

She tugged her bell rope to summon help with fetching the dress but after a moment of waiting, no one came.

She sucked in a breath, brushed down her skirt and stepped out into the corridor. It was quiet, but she could hear the soft shuffle of feet a little further down the hall. She turned in the direction of the noise expecting to see a servant answering her bell rope. Instead, two gentlemen came into view.

The shorter of the pair, was her cousin Connor. His time away had left his face untouched, save for light whiskers at the side of his familiar smile. Their eyes met and his smile deepened as it always did when he used to tease her as a child. Holly smiled back at him but could not smile for long. Almost as soon as she saw the gentleman standing next to Connor, the breath caught in her throat.

He was tall with shoulders built for lifting. His thick tailcoat extended to the knee but could not disguise the lean, powerful shape of his calves. Even dressed as he was, it was plain that the man was cut all the way through from lean muscle. He did not smile when their eyes met, but his cinnamon brown eyes seemed to glisten at the sight of her. For a moment, Holly found herself unable to look away. Something about the man sent a strange flutter up her sternum. His eyes were dark as sin but carried a glint of earnestness that seemed faintly familiar. Where do I know him from?

Her cousin Connor cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “My dearest cousin, so good to see you.”

Holly drew in a breath and gathered herself. She could still feel the strange man’s dark eyes on her. The man was almost staring.

She avoided his gaze and turned to her cousin and dipping in a low curtsey. “It is a great pleasure to see you returned safely to us, cousin.”

Connor gave a small bow and looked up at her. “You have grown. You are not quite the little girl I left behind.”

“Everything changes with time,” Holly said with a gentle nod.

Connor touched his chin and looked up to the taller man next to him. When he realized that the man was still staring at Holly, he narrowed his eyes and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. The man’s eyes did not move. Not even a little.

Connor cleared his throat once more. “Where are my manners? I am yet to make proper introductions. Well, in this case, re-introductions.”

Holly’s eyes widened. She had seen the man before. She raised an eyebrow as her cousin stepped forward to speak.

“I don’t suppose you remember this gentleman?” Connor said, placing a hand on the taller man’s shoulder.

Holly squinted, looking at the stranger again. He had removed his hat—likely upon entering the manor house—letting short curls of ash blond hair fall across his face. He had strong features. A face of blades and sharpness. Only in his eyes could softness be found. Their eyes met again and without knowing why, Holly shrank back.

“I apologize,” Holly said, “I don’t remember you, My Lord.”

If the stranger was disappointed, his face did not show it. He only lifted his chin ever-so-slightly as though to make it easier to look down on her.

“This is…” Connor hesitated, noticing something on Holly’s dress. “Your dress,” he said, pointing.

She colored as the memory of her mission to the scullery returned to her. How embarrassing. She covered the stain with her hand and stepped back from the pair. “I managed to spill some tea on it only a moment ago,” she explained.

“Oh, dear,” Connor said.

“If you would forgive me, good sirs, I must attend to my dress.”

“Of course,” Connor said, stepping aside.

The stranger only narrowed his eyes and nodded.

Their eyes met one last time and that strange flutter in her stomach returned. Sudden as a slap, she could recall where she had seen the man before. Nicholas.

It had been some time since she had last seen him, but now it seemed obvious it was him. His body had transformed and everything about his face had changed but his quiet earnestness remained the same. Looking at him, it was as if a sculptor had worked to chisel his once baby-round face to strong, masculine sharpness.

In her childhood, Nicholas had always been right next to Connor in teasing and making fun of her. A quiet boy at the most of times but with a sharp, barbarous wit. Now, here he stood, all the way a man with a look that spoke to all the new experience of his grand tour. Everything changes with time.

Perhaps it was the sudden glint of recognition in her eyes or her undue hesitation in departing. Whatever it was, Nicholas did not say a word. He opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it and only stared down at her.

They stood there, in strange silence for a moment. She felt the color rise to her cheeks and blinked as her hand fell to the side. Then she sucked in breath, hunched her shoulders and gave a faint smile. “If you would be so kind as to excuse me, my lords.”

They both gave gentle nods of affirmation.

With that, she made her way past them in the corridor, shifting hastily to avoid any cause for a backward glance.

 

***

Nicholas watched her walk away, his stare barely shifting from her silhouette. She remembered me. It was nice to know that he had not become a forgotten anecdote in the years he had spent away. When he left five years ago, Lady Holly Walsh had been late in her girlhood. More likely to be caught running barefooted through the gardens than to be fretting over a tea stain on her dress. She was only a few years younger than him, but it was astounding how much she had seemed to grow in the time since he had been on grand tour. When she spoke, it took an almost inhuman effort not to consider her lips. When he had tried to avoid her lips, he found himself staring at her elegant neck. When he managed to drive his eyes away from her neck, his gaze found her bosom. At last, he found himself staring into her eyes—pools of endless blue-green and more arresting than anything before. She was all woman now, he made no mistake.

Nicholas had traveled far and wide and met more than his fair share of women, but it had been many years since he’d been struck by such an unmistakeable pang of intrigue as when he saw Lady Holly under the lantern light.

It was not simply that she was pretty. Of that, there had never been a doubt—she was beautiful by any measure. There was more to her—something completely invisible that seemed to heighten her appeal. It ran deeper than mere beauty and he could not manage to figure out exactly what it was. He rubbed his chin as her silhouette disappeared around the corner. Now is not the time for a lady. His father’s shipping company, he had long decided, was his priority. He tightened his fist and forced himself to look away.

Connor gave a low groan to draw his attention.

Nicholas turned toward his old friend with a pointedly nonchalant turn. “What was it we used to call her again?”

A mischievous smile spread across Connor’s face. “Holly the Dolly.”

Nicholas nodded with a small smile. “She was so skinny with those long arms.”

“And the pigtails she always wore,” added Connor.

A moment of silence passed. “She is not quite so skinny anymore,” Nicholas said, “and her arms suit her size now.”

Connor gave him an appraising look. “I suppose so.”

Nicholas felt color rising to his cheeks and quickly changed the subject. “Perhaps you can show me around this place again, it has been far too long.”

Connor smiled and stepped forward. “With pleasure.”

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