Previews

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”.

---

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

---

If you want to be always up to date with my new releases, click and...
Follow me on BookBub

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.

---

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

---

If you want to be always up to date with my new releases, click and...
Follow me on BookBub

 

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.”

---

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

---

If you want to be always up to date with my new releases, click and...
Follow me on BookBub

 

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.”

---

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

---

If you want to be always up to date with my new releases, click and...
Follow me on BookBub

Prologue

“Ignore him,” he heard a boy say as his path took him close to the group in the orphanage yard. Much too close for comfort.

Elias ignored the mockery in the boy’s voice and, careful to avoid eye contact with anyone, continued down his path. Please, please, please do as he tells you. Just let me go by. Pay no attention to me. He passed the group of boys and entered the much quieter garden area. He preferred to be here alone, and, whenever he got the chance, he would try to stay out of sight behind a huge oak tree there.

It still puzzled Elias why those boys were so hateful to him. Yes, he was somewhat smaller than others his age, and they were a little older and taller, but he had never given them any cause to beat him the way they so often did.

They weren’t the only reason he hated it here though. Elias had been much happier—and better fed, at the slum orphanage in Cheapside, where he had spent the first three years of his life. At least he had not been mistreated by anyone there. The owner of that orphanage had been a kindly old man.

Unfortunately, the man had also been increasingly ill. When he died from a fever, Elias was three, and the children had been moved to other institutions throughout London. He had been unlucky enough to end up here in this orphanage in the area of London called Chelsea.

Elias heard a tiny meow somewhere nearby, and he began searching for the animal. If it was in distress, he might be able to help. The meows continued, and Elias followed the sound until he spotted a white kitten curled into a ball.

“I found you,” he muttered as he moved closer to it carefully so he didn’t scare it away. Elias picked the animal up and stroked its fur as he made it comfortable in his hand. “Have you been hurt? What can I do to make you feel better?”

A smile crept up his lips when the kitten purred and lowered its head to lick his hand. “I can tell you are grateful, and in dire need of attention. Let us have a drink from the pond, then.”

Elias first looked back toward the yard where the boys were, and, seeing no one there at that moment, he made his way to the pond at the end of the garden. If no one came looking for him, he would be able to sit by the pond until it was time for the night meal.

The master here would yell while one of his assistants rang the bell, and the boys would gather round in the large courtyard to queue up for their meal. They were always given bowls of soup that made Elias’s stomach hurt, so he didn’t eat it. It was better to go to bed hungry than to feel sick all night; he could sometimes fill up at breakfast anyway.

I wish I had a regular home, and wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a brother or sister to talk to?

He stopped by the pond and released the kitten, chuckling to himself as it lapped at the water to its fill. He enjoyed spending time with animals because they showed him love when humans did not.

He vividly remembered his first night here. The caretaker had shown him to a cramped space where his mat lay, and he had buried himself under the blanket they offered, shutting his eyes tight and trying to force himself to sleep even though it wasn’t bedtime yet and he was aware of the other boys staring at him for a long time.

The next morning, he got beat up for going to bed early. That earned him the nickname ‘baby’—not said with any kindness although he was only three years old at the time. It felt even worse now that he was six.

Elias was so engrossed in encouraging the kitty that he did not hear anyone creep up behind him until something hard poked him in the ribs.

“Ouch,” he yelped, and turned around.

“Baby,” one boy yelled and shoved him to the ground. He landed hard on his behind, and pain erupted through him. “Ye talking to a cat?” his attacker jeered. “Do ye not have something better to do? Maybe add more animals to the list that you talk to?”

The others laughed hard. Their bodies shook from the force of it, and their eyes gleamed with mischief.

“I do not want any trouble,” Elias said, gathering himself from the ground and backing away from them. He knew how confrontations such as this ended; he had experienced them often enough.

He raised both hands in the air and added. “Please.”

They mimicked his plea and giggled as they surrounded him. Elias’s pulse kicked up a notch, and his heart hammered in his chest.

He felt the urge to run but knew he could not outrun the four of them. These boys were one of the reasons he had been so miserable here. The other reason was the mean master; between them, they made it difficult for him to get through each day.

What did I do to deserve such dislike?

“You know it is enjoyable watching you this way,” the red-headed boy among them said. “My mother was not English, and every time my father liked, he would hit her. Why do you think that is? It is because she was weak, just as you are.”

Elias wiped his lips with the back of his right hand, and his fists formed a ball at his side. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he dropped his head, avoiding their gazes as they continued laughing among themselves.

“I don’t understand it. Why do you fancy animals? What do you hear when they look at you? Do you hear them speak?” another boy teased and landed a blow to his stomach. Elias grunted and tried to get away, but one of the boys gripped him by the collar of his shirt, and another hit him again, harder this time.

Elias broke out in a sob and crouched. As he wrapped his arms around his stomach, he noticed the cat leaping away from the scene into the fields, and his heart sank.

“I do not want any trouble; I just want to go back inside the shelter,” he said after struggling to endure the pain and catch his breath again.

A kick to his ankle sent him spiraling to the ground, and this time, he could not get up. They punched him, each of them taking turns to ram their fists into his mid-section.

Ignoring his cries, they continued, kicking him until his sides were sore and dirt from the ground covered his ragged clothes. One of them gripped a fist full of dirt and grabbed his hair to raise him up. Elias didn’t have time to think before the dirt reached his lungs and blurred his eyes.

Feeling as though he couldn’t breathe, he coughed and spat out most of it, but the taste still lingered.

Elias cried out, groaning as they laughed and kicked him harder. His ankle hurt, and the constant blows to his stomach and sides made him feel as though he were going to be sick from the pain.

When they had had their fill, they stepped away, and he struggled to get up again. Between the bruising on his face and the dirt in his eyes, he could barely see them.

“You want to fight back?”

“I doubt he can. He’s scared, too,” hist first attacker jeered, and kicked his side again.

Elias panted, trying to control the anger flooding him even though he could do nothing. He could not fight these boys, not when he didn’t have anyone on his side to defend him.

I’m all alone.

“Let’s leave him to go back to kitty talking, yeah?”

They cackled, and the shrill sound of their voices floated around him as they turned to walk away. One of them spared a moment to look back at him as he got up and leveled a blow at his face.

Elias jerked back from the impact and fell to the ground, pain erupting in his skull. He felt the warmth of his blood trickle down from his nostrils as wind left his lungs, making him dizzy for a second. Then he slid into the darkness that had only been hovering around him seconds ago.

***

The next time he opened his eyes, there was a dull throb in his temple. He tried to say something, but all that came out of his tight throat was a croak.

Elias blinked, fighting the fogginess in his brain. He tried to make out the blurry face above him or understand the sounds he heard nearby, but it was too much of a struggle. He gave up for the moment.

Somewhat later, he was able to focus on the face in his view. The angelic, heart-shaped face of a young girl with wide, blue eyes boring into his. He had never seen anything more beautiful, yet the image was so intense that it sent a shiver through him, even in his pain-dazed state.

Elias slipped away again even as he tried to hold on to the sound of her desperate voice, calling on him. He did not know what was happening, but he suspected that he was dying and this angel was waiting for him.

It was the only logical explanation for this dream he was having; or had the blow to his head been that hard?

He gained full consciousness sometime later in the middle of the night, and, when he looked around and realized he was in the infirmary, his fright doubled.

Elias hated the boys in the dormitory, but he hated the nurse more. Every boy who had to go to the infirmary returned afraid of the place.

He did not know what happened here, but boys were never the same after a stay.

He clutched the sheets covering his body and whimpered when he heard the chair scraping. Elias could only make out shadows of the nurse in the room.

“I know you are awake there,” she said. “You fainted for a long time. You are lucky that little girl came to get my help.”

His heart jumped for a second, and he swallowed the terror clamping his throat shut.

“You’ve suffered much from the torture of your beating, but it is best you return to your dormitory before the master finds out. You have many, large bruises, but they will heal.”

Elias could not understand why the woman was kind to him. “Th…. thank you,” he stammered and scrambled around until his feet touched the floor.

His ankle still ached, and his ribs and nose pained him greatly, but she was right. It was best the master did not find him in the infirmary. If they tossed him out for being sick, then he would have nowhere else to go.

“Do not let them do that to you, boy,” she said when he reached the door. Elias still could not see her because it was so dark in the chamber, and he wondered how she went around her duties properly. “Stand up for yourself, and fight to survive—if you do not, you will never make it to three and twenty in those merciless streets. Weakness is not for people such as you and me.”

He heard the chair scrape against the floor again, and Elias turned the door handle. Stilling his thumping heart, he slipped out of the infirmary and ran down the dark corridor, making his way to the dormitory. When he finally reached his corner, he folded himself under his blankets and finally released the breath caught in his throat this entire time.

That night, the nurse’s words replayed in his head—over and over again.

Weakness is not for people such as you and me.

Elias knew in his heart what the words meant, and he made a vow there and then. He would survive in this brutal world, and when he did—he would make sure no that one ever tortured children again. Ever.

 

Chapter One

Sixteen years later

Ida Arnold enjoyed the time she spent at the orphanage. She enjoyed spending time in the garden with its pond and huge oak tree, but, most of all, she loved spending time with the children.

The orphanage had changed much over the years, but, for her, one thing was constant. She had to always make sure the children here were as happy as they could despite lacking many things. It was why she visited so often, even though it made her father angry.

She grew up loving this place. Whenever she came, there were children like her who looked as though they needed more than just a place to sleep. Even as a little girl, Ida had known that these children needed love and attention; and they weren’t getting it. That’s why she brought treats from the house and shared with them. Their smiles always brightened her day.

Ida entered the main building through the side doors, and, as usual, a crowd of children ran towards her, each of them clamoring for a chance to hug her or feel a gentle pat on their hair. Their smiles were all she needed usually, and her mood brightened.

“How are you all?” she asked, joining in their laughter as they celebrated her visit. “Quiet down, calm down,” she urged, and untied the bonnet on her head.

“How long will you stay, Miss Ida?” a little girl named Mary asked, flashing her set of milky white teeth with two missing at the front. “Have you come to see us?”

“Will you tell us a story?” another chirped in before she could answer the first question. “You promised the last time you came to visit.”

“Please tell us a story.”

“Yes, we love your stories.”

Ida released a soft chuckle. “Alright, alright… I will tell you a short story today, but we all must gather in the infirmary to listen to it. Also…” She paused and reached into the reticule she carried. “I brought sweets.”

They met her announcement with another round of jubilation, and Ida led the crowd to the old infirmary. She knew her way around the orphanage as well as if it were her own house; sometimes she even preferred being here to being at home.

She sighed when they entered the empty room, and they settled down on the floor while she took the only chair.

The room smelled musty, as they had not used it in years. Since Ida was six, the nurse who ran the infirmary had passed away, and her father had failed to replace her.  Over the years, she grew to realize he didn’t care for the orphanage at all. The place was a source of income for him as the wealthy would make huge donations frequently, and he used them to fund his excessive gambling.

She could remember sitting in a corner of the garden every day they came here—too terrified to say anything about the way he treated the children and the staff. The one time she dared speak when she was six, the unflinching glare he tossed at her, had sealed her lips.

Even then, I feared his wrath.

Their manor was a stone’s throw from the Chelsea orphanage, and she always whined to join him on his visits there. Ida inhaled a deep breath as his harsh words floated through her mind.

Get inside, and stay there until I ask for you, Ida, else I will make sure you never come here again.

He had wanted to speak with the master. He never thought there was more to running an orphanage. Regardless of his complete lack of interest in the orphans, Ida still held compassion for the children; none of that changed over the years.

“Today, we will talk about Robin Hood,” she began. The children fixed their expectant eyes on hers and warmth filled her heart.

This is the little I can do to bring them some happiness, she thought as she launched into her story.

She hoped that the new owner was going to take better care of the children.

“I am doing this for our good, Ida,” her father had said to her on the day he signed the papers for the sale of the orphanage. “Soon you will need to wed a fine young man, and your husband will expect the traditional monetary settlement from me. I am doing this for you.”

His words should have engaged her interest in the decision, but they repulsed her instead; she knew her father too well. Henry Arnold did not care for anyone but himself. Even with his position as the Earl of Chelsea, all that concerned him were the social benefits of the title.

“I want to hear about Robin Hood,” a boy sitting near her feet said and tugged the hem of her skirts, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Ida crossed her fingers and laid her hands on her lap. “Alright then… the story goes like this. Long ago, there was a man named Robin, a noble thief, and he lived in the county of Nottinghamshire…”

She began narrating the tale exactly how she remembered it being told to her by her governess when she was little, and Ida made the same facial expressions to keep the light tone of the story. Their laughter was her satisfaction and one tale stretched into another until she had completely lost track of the time.

Ida hoped her stories brightened their day just as being with them brightened hers.

 

***

The last time he had been here, he hoped he would never return. This orphanage was where he learned to be the man he was today, but the very thought of the place spiked anger through him.

Elias walked through each corridor of the old building, and every step reminded him of the horror he had lived here. How much he had hated that life, and how desperate he had been to get away.

He had gotten out, thrived, and climbed the social ladder; now, he gloried in his success. He had come so far and achieved so much, due solely to his hard work.

Maybe he owed one achievement to the former owner of the orphanage, the Earl of Chelsea. Henry Arnold’s gambling problem had created an opportunity for Elias to buy this building, and now he owned the place that had caused him so much pain as a child. He could finally get rid of that weak bit of his past by tearing the place apart and rebuilding it as it should have been in the first place. With love.

When he first saw the newspaper post announcing that the orphaned children’s shelter in Chelsea was for sale, he decided to ignore it. He had no desire to be back in this place of torment, but, in the end, he could not rid the thought of what might happen to the children if someone as selfish as the Earl of Chelsea purchased the orphanage.

He decided he could change and improve everything about this place to make sure the children here had a different experience than the one he had had when he lived here years ago.

Otherwise, no one would care for them or this place. It would become another of England’s institutional failures.

He walked past the former nursery, and, as he rounded the corner to check on the renovation in the dormitories, the sound of childish chatter and giggles caught his attention.

This part of the building was closed off from the others because they were yet to start any repairs here, so he had not expected to see or hear anyone.

Interested, Elias took a quick detour, and walked towards the room where the voices were coming from. Without hesitation, he turned the knob, and his steps faltered when he spotted a woman sitting in front of the children, a big smile on her heart-shaped face as she spoke to them.

She turned when the door creaked, and her eyes met his. His breath stopped in his throat, and every other thing around him stilled for a second.

She had the bluest eyes he had ever seen, and they stared right through him, causing heat to rush to the back of his neck. Her eyes flickered over his for a minute, and her brows formed an arch.

Elias stood at the door and took in her looks. In addition to her captivating eyes, he immediately noticed her freckles and the pointed shape of her nose; how pretty! She blinked, and her full lashes bounced over her eyes twice, catching his attention. Elias knew he had never seen a more beautiful woman.

Her cheeks turned a rosy pink color; it most likely embarrassed her that he stared for so long, but he did not care. He allowed his gaze to move over the rest of her.

Her soft blonde curls framed the sides of her face. He imagined them up on top of her head, so he could see the creamy skin of her neck properly. She eyed him cautiously, and he noticed the pure innocence reflected in her eyes. There was no flirtation there; just simple curiosity. It stirred something in Elias, and he couldn’t bring himself to draw his eyes away.

Who is this woman?

Elias pulled himself out of his thoughts and stepped into the room. Silence filled the air, and he felt the curious eyes of the children land on him as he walked towards the lady.

She bolted out of the chair, her fingers stilled linked in front of her, but she held onto his gaze. There was something about the way she looked at him—something about the way her blue eyes pierced him that made his pulse race in a way he had never experienced before.

“Do you work here? Or are you visiting?” Elias asked in a light, teasing voice as he raked his gaze over the full length of her body this time. She had a small frame and was shorter even than his medium height. The dress she wore hugged her curves perfectly, its sash tied in a bow so beautiful, just like the rest of her.

His eyes dropped to her linked fingers, and one corner of his lips quirked up when he saw her fiddle with the fabric of her dress.

She is shy; nervous even.

The dress was a creamy shade with green embroidery that gave it a unique look, and he noticed the low neckline exposing more silky skin at her cleavage.

When she didn’t reply to his last question, he decided that she wasn’t a member of the staff. Besides, she certainly wasn’t dressed as an employee. “I did not know the children had any visitors today.” He stopped in front of her and caught a whiff of her scent. His heart began a slow dance when it reached his nostrils, but he did not allow his eyes to drift over her again.

Floral… perhaps lilacs mixed with lavender. He loved it, just as he loved the tendrils of her hair falling to the edges of her face. Her lips parted slightly as though she wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, she licked her lower lip.

The sight sent heat through him, and that startled Elias. He had met a lot of women over the years, but none of them had had this instant effect on him. Her eyes left his for a second to look at the children, and he noticed the softness in her gaze.

He looked at her again; this time his eyes narrowed. “I asked a question. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“You do not have to worry about me. I…I was just leaving,” she stammered instead of responding to his question. Her voice was a breathy sound, and it washed over him instantly, causing a slow hum in his blood.

Even her voice is beautiful. 

He watched her grab her reticule from the chair and wave at the children before dashing for the door. As she breezed past him, he caught another whiff of her scent and released a soft, unexpected chuckle.

The children scurried out after her, and he stared after them in shock, wondering what they had been doing before he came in. The room had emptied now, and he looked around.

There was something familiar about the woman. Maybe it was the shyness he sensed or the way she stared right into him in spite of it.

I feel as though I have seen those eyes somewhere, but I can’t place it. Elias didn’t think they had ever met, but he couldn’t shake away the warmth of familiarity that rushed through him.

A tingle raced up his spine, and he inhaled sharply. The air that filled his nostrils carried her scent; it still lingered in the room, even though she had left.

Elias turned to walk to the door, but he gave the room one last look before he did. His eyes landed on a book lying under the chair the lady had occupied, and, with quick steps, he went to retrieve it. As soon as it was in his hand, he saw it was a diary. Elias never kept such a thing personally, because he had never seen any need for it.

His time was occupied with work, activities at the docks, reports from the managers of his shops, and dinners or meetings with wealthy gentlemen of the ton who needed to do business with him.

This probably belongs to her. He looked at the diary, contemplating whether he should keep it or chase after her to return it.

He flipped through the pages until one caught his attention, and his brows arched when he read the first few lines out loud.

1. Fall in love with a gentleman
2. Explore England with the man I love

Elias scoffed and turned to the next page, shaking his head at the gullible but enticing ideas she had scribbled down.

He completely forgot about his walk around the orphanage, and, instead, he dropped into the chair, crossed his legs in front of him, and began looking through the diary more slowly.

Whoever this woman was, she believed in that fairy tale called love.

He knew it was wrong to read through someone else’s private thoughts, but he couldn’t help the curiosity tunneling through him. Whoever this woman was, she certainly had a vivid imagination.

Elias enjoyed reading through her notes, and he admired her elegant handwriting. What called him the most was the title of the list she had made in her diary.

Exciting things I would like to do with a man…

 

Chapter Two

Ida realized she had read the same line at least twice when one particular sentence began to look very familiar. She closed the book with a sigh, lay on her bed, and closed her eyes for a second, trying to ward off thoughts of the stranger she had met earlier. He had very familiar eyes, and the smile on his lips hinted at danger.

He is the most handsome man I have seen in the whole of London. Even now in her room, it felt as though his dark eyes were still pinned on hers, and she couldn’t break free from the breathlessness she felt when he looked at her. The square shape of his face and hair as dark as night gave him unforgettable looks, and that image was ingrained in her memory already.

If she was being honest, he was definitely a distraction. With a sigh, she flopped over to her side on her bed, and buried her face in her pillows. His face popped into her mind again, the dark brooding eyes that bore into hers when she saw him standing there by the doorway.

Too engrossed in her story that afternoon, she hadn’t noticed the intruder until he walked into the room and asked her a question in a deep baritone that immediately sent a shiver down her spine.

There is something about the way he looked at me…. Who could that man be?

Ida groaned, and this time she sat upright, tossing the sheets covering her body aside. She slipped out of bed and walked to the windows to stare out into the starry night.

Her father’s loud drunken voice reached her bedchamber from the drawing room, where he spent so much time with his friends. At this ungodly hour, they were drinking over a chess game, and she hated nights such as this the most because she could get no sleep.

Why does he have to do this every night? Why do I have to endure this?

Ida hated her life most of the time; she wished there was a way things would turn out differently for her. With a father who had the reputation of a rake, it was impossible to go through each day without having to read of his latest scandal in the morning post.

The ton in London thrived on tearing each other down in their gossip, and her father was frequently discussed. She was used to see mention of him in the papers or see the looks in her direction from other ladies of the ton who whispered behind their fans when she passed by in her coach.

Ida had eventually learned to keep to herself. Her only friend was Elizabeth, her lady’s maid, and she was content with that. There was a time when she had wished for more, but Ida had grown to realize that she found comfort in her books and her time in the orphanage. She really didn’t need any more than that.

He can’t ever get over his gambling problem, she shook her head.

With a sigh, Ida returned to bed, and picked up the book she was reading. This time, she channeled her attention to the words on the paper. Her eyes skimmed each line, and she got lost in the world created by the story again.

She stumbled on a good line and instinctively reached for the diary on her nightstand. Whenever she read, she liked to note down her favorite lines, or words she did not know the meaning of.

It helped her ponder them later when she did a little daydreaming. Ida dropped the book and glanced at her nightstand when her hands did not touch the book.

“I always keep it here,” she muttered, a frown crossing her forehead. She rose from her bed again and went to check the reticule hanging on her chair.

My diary is missing…

The thought came with a mix of panic and fear, causing her pulse to skyrocket. In that diary, she wrote her most private thoughts…. In that diary, she kept things that no one could ever see!

How could I be so careless?

She willed her mind to stop racing and sucked in a deep breath. Okay Ida, relax and think. How did I misplace it? I am usually very careful with my diary.

She recalled taking the diary to the orphanage earlier that day because she noted down stories for the children in it. It occurred to her then that she must have left it in the room where she had been telling stories to the children.

Ida’s panic subsided a bit because she was fairly confident of where she had lost the diary, but the other thing that plagued her mind was the possibility of someone seeing what she had written in it.

Her mind wandered to the dark-haired brooding stranger again, and she shuddered.

A rumble of laughter reached from downstairs again, and Ida’s irritation at her father’s activities grew. She returned to her reading, hoping it would occupy her mind for the rest of the night, and, in the morning, she would hurry to the orphanage to retrieve her diary.

First thing in the morning, she promised herself as she settled in with the book again and continued reading until she fell asleep minutes later. She hoped it had not gotten into the hands of someone who would read her inner thoughts and make it public.

 

***

3. Kiss him until I’m breathless.
4. Look into his eyes and feel my heart thump in my chest.
5. Steal touches in a grand public event

This woman’s words intrigued him, and, with each page of the diary Elias read, he wanted to meet her in person again.

He pictured her, staring at him with those wide, innocent eyes and rushing out of the room as if she were making an escape. There aren’t many shy women in London that possess such innocent and yet wild beauty, Elias concluded.

From her writing, he could guess the woman she was. Inexperienced was the word to describe her, but, then again, if one read her inner thoughts without first meeting her in person, they would think she was a vixen.

He snapped out of his thoughts and closed the diary when a soft knock on his study door alerted him.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and the head nurse of the orphanage walked in.

“You sent for me, sir,” she said and curtsied.

“Yes, I did, Mrs. Agnes. I’d like to know… who is the young lady who visited the orphanage today? She gathered the children in the old infirmary and told them stories…” Elias paused, and the woman waited for him to continue. “It’s just, I did not know the children had any guests who would care to read them stories.”

“She is Ida Arnold, sir. She is one of the very few people who visit the children frequently.”

“Ida Arnold?” he repeated. “As in Arnold, Earl of Chelsea?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Agnes replied with another curtsey. Elias finally realized why the young woman had looked so familiar. He had probably seen her in the past when he lived here.

“The daughter of the Earl of Chelsea,” he muttered under his breath, his lips curving into a mischievous grin as one line from the list in her diary played in his head.

6. Sneak out of a ball to meet my love, watch the starry night together, and lean into him to enjoy the warmth of his arms.

A light chuckle escaped his lips, and he swung his chair around, marveling at this twist of fate. The earl’s daughter often visited his orphanage, and, now, he had a book containing her thoughts in his possession.

An image of the lady entered his mind, and he indulged in it. The woman he had met that day possessed a look of innocence—pure enough to confuse anyone before they heard her father’s status.

Her wide eyes had called to him, and he hadn’t been able to look away from her.

“You may leave,” he said without looking at the head nurse. His mind was still focused on the image of the woman in his head.

The nurse curtsied before leaving his study, and Elias picked up the diary again with a mischievous grin forming on his lips.

---

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

---

If you want to be always up to date with my new releases, click and...
Follow me on BookBub