Chapter One

For all the magic of the Far East, there was always something about London that spoke of kinship to Clayton Thorne’s soul. Perhaps they were both a little dirty, he thought with amusement as the scent of all the coal-fueled homes and businesses along the waterfront reached his nose, but a diamond of the first water nonetheless. His hackney coach sped west into better neighborhoods until it reached Regent Street. Neither he nor his valet spoke, both tired after the early six-month return journey from Calcutta.

The afternoon tide coming into port had been late enough that he was yawning, but not so late that he could easily retire straight to bed without hearing about it from his brother if he delayed announcing his return. Still, weariness threatened to drag his eyelids closed even as the coach came to a complete stop. Between himself, his valet, and the coach driver, they managed to unload three trunks and the important satchel of papers. The coach waited with the luggage as Clayton and his valet struggled to get each trunk up to his first-floor rooms, moving slower and slower as weariness overcame them.

His valet nodded at him as they set the last trunk in the center of the parlor. The man’s smile was thin but genuine. “Welcome home, sir.”

“It’s good to be back, Hoskins.” Clayton collapsed into an armchair without removing the dust cloth, sending up a puff of many months’ dust. He coughed several times until he cleared the irritation from his throat, shaking his blonde hair into his eyes. Brushing the hair from his eyes, Clayton considered it was definitely time for a haircut while his feet were on solid ground. Getting a haircut while on a ship rolling with the waves in the middle of the sea was dangerous for one’s ears, not to mention a somewhat lop-sided style.

“Hoskins, if you would be so kind as to ask one of the footmen to go to Thorensbury House, I expect Tobias will want to see me this evening. I’m not sure I’m quite the best company for supper, but I’m sure that won’t stop Georgiana from inviting me.” His sister-in-law was the consummate hostess, but he would be horrible company tonight. He quietly groaned as he rose to get paper and ink from his study, and he scratched out a few lines. He started to fold the note only to remember that his pantry was empty. Clayton added a postscript begging for scraps from his brother’s table, wondering if maybe he ought to suggest supper there after all. Supper would mean dressing up and making pleasant conversation—he wasn’t sure he had that in him.

“Yes, sir.” The valet began removing dust cloths so there was room to sit down, though he would never think of sitting in Clayton’s presence. Hoskins was nearly fifteen years his senior, but the man had not seemed any more bothered by the extended trip than Clayton himself, and at twenty-eight, even the nobleman had been feeling the months of travel well before the end.

The idea of collapsing into bed without first going to visit his brother was very appealing, but he knew how Tobias, the Earl of Thorensbury, would react to that. Unless he was injured, Clayton’s duty was to the family before all else. “I’d best change, and I could use a shave before I go. After you have that sent, of course,” he added, nodding at the folded paper he had handed his valet.

“Quite right. Why don’t you sit for a moment, sir, unless you wish to retrieve something from your luggage?” Message in hand, Hoskins hurried out the door to find an available footman. Clayton had no idea how the man had the energy to jump right into his duties without flinching.

Clayton returned to his luggage, feeling a bit guilty for making Hoskins leap into service so quickly. He was elbow-deep in one of his trunks when Hoskins returned. Between the two of them and their fatigue, it felt to Clayton like the simple actions of redressing in clean clothes and shaving took forever. There was a knock at his door as he was sliding into his jacket. He opened the door since he was standing right there, pleased to see the familiar face of one of Thorensbury House’s footmen with a large hamper.

“Welcome home, sir,” the man greeted him, barely betraying any surprise that Clayton had answered his own door. “His Lordship’s cook had dinner made up for you in no time.”

“Come in, come in.” Clayton gestured. “I probably owe Mrs. Powell a gift, the angel. What do you think, Hoskins?”

The valet reentered the front rooms after disposing of the shaving implements and nodded. “Some of the spices, sir.”

“Yes.” It was a good thing one of them still had wits after their journey.

Hoskins took the hamper of food from the footman, who retreated to the door. “Your gelding is below, sir. His Lordship is waiting for an answer as to when he might expect you, sir.”

“I’ll eat a few bites and be on my way. I doubt I’ll remain awake too much longer.” Clayton watched as Hoskins unearthed sliced ham and made him a plate. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Talbot, but I can’t stay too long. You can tell him I will also call upon them tomorrow morning to be more sociable, and we can go to the warehouse together then. I don’t have the energy tonight.” The footman bowed his acknowledgment of the message and let himself out.

Clayton followed the good smells to his coffee table and slid onto the settee as his valet set the plate down. “You must be famished, Hoskins, don’t let’s stand on ceremony. Do eat. We’ve had a long journey.” He liked and respected his valet and wasn’t about to let the man suffer just for propriety’s sake, not after they had journeyed together so far from home. On the trip, Hoskins had been valet, footman, secretary, and accountant, not to mention friend, sounding board, and confidant.

“Heavens no, sir. I’ll be just fine eating after you are through.” Not leaving the matter open to discussion, the valet moved away, shaking his head as he disappeared into Clayton’s bedroom to continue airing out the chambers.

Clayton sighed but would not force the point if his man wanted to return to polite society’s expectations. It was proper. Hang propriety. I couldn’t care less after six months at sea. Not that he was all that concerned with society’s wishes on an average day. He wolfed down his food, however, too hungry to delay his meal. “I’ll need my coat and hat, Hoskins—” The man appeared with the items before he could even finish the sentence. “Thank you. I don’t expect I’ll stay longer than I must.” Hoskins assisted Clayton with the greatcoat. Clayton picked up the satchel of papers and slung the strap over his head.

“Very good, sir.”

As the son of an Earl, Clayton was raised with servants, carriages, and all the domestic assistance he could ever need. Now that he made his own living, as the second son, he had only his gelding, and even the horse had been more his brother’s than his own while he was away. I hope the poor beast did not suffer for my absence.

Clayton was greeted with a familiar whinny, so he relaxed and shoved away the worries for another time. Clayton brought the gelding an apple and gave the fine beast some attention. “Hello, old boy. I’ve missed you.”

He rode quickly to Thorensbury House, feeling every jolt despite the gelding’s gentle gait. The townhouse was well lit and still very much awake, as evidenced by the waiting footman. Clayton dismounted and handed his reins to the footman. “I don’t expect I’ll be long, but he might appreciate not standing about in the cool evening while my brother dissects my latest travels.” The footman bowed his acknowledgment, and Clayton hurried to the door opened by the butler just as he reached it. “Good evening, Dowding.”

“Good evening, sir. His Lordship awaits you in his study.”

“No need to announce me, Dowding, thank you. I can find my way.” Clayton handed over his hat and greatcoat, took up his satchel once more, and then made his way down the hall to Tobias’ study—the same study in which his father had spent most of his time. He found Tobias bent over the desk, writing.

“My kingdom for a glass of whisky,” the younger of the two siblings announced with appropriate comedic melodrama.

When the Earl’s head flew up, Clayton could see lines of age that had not been there prior to his Far East journey. The sense of age and weariness disappeared as soon as Tobias smiled, however. “Welcome back, brother.” The Earl rose and moved around his desk to shake Clayton’s hand firmly. “It is good to see you looking well.”

“It’s good to be home,” Clayton agreed, sinking into one of the armchairs in front of the desk. “I don’t have the energy to stay long tonight, Thorensbury, but I can say we did well. The crates of fabric and goods were taken straight to the warehouse. But there are some gifts in there as well that I didn’t have time to unpack.”

Instead of returning to his chair, Tobias Thorne went to his sidebar and poured two snifters of brandy, one of which he offered to Clayton, before leaning against the corner of his desk. “Good to hear. I told Georgiana we would see you tomorrow, so she’s likely planning a supper fit for the celebration of your return.” His gaze traced Clayton’s face. “I hope your journey was not too dreadful.”

With a sigh, Clayton sipped from his glass and tried to relax his shoulders. “No, just long. Six months aboard ship drove me to distraction by the end.” He patted the leather bag in his lap. “New trade agreements, import/export contracts, and shipping schedules. Also, receipts for the first consignment. If they faced better weather than I, the first ship might well be nearing England in a matter of weeks. I thought we might go to the warehouse together tomorrow to open the new crates.”

The Earl nodded. “Good.” He sipped from his glass, but the action seemed to cover a moment’s hesitation, which was entirely unlike the brother Clayton knew.

He frowned. “What’s the matter?”

His older brother sighed, reaching up to rub his forehead. Hints of weariness reappeared, aging his brother beyond his thirty years. “I found some old correspondence belonging to father when I had the furniture in here moved. Seeing you reminded me.”

Clayton nodded, wondering what that had to do with anything. “And?”

A dark look crossed his brother’s face. “Here, read it for yourself.” He moved behind his desk again and withdrew a packet of papers from a drawer. He flipped through them quickly until selecting one and holding it out.

Clayton glanced down at the signature. “Wilensdale? I wasn’t aware father was acquainted with the Duke.”

“Nor I. Keep reading.” Tobias drained the rest of his brandy in one long pull.

Skimming the pleasantries, Clayton read the key facts as quickly as he could. The Duke wrote that he agreed the first steps of their father’s idea had gone well, but that the business opportunity wouldn’t require him—Clayton’s father, the late Earl of Thorensbury—to be involved at all, for Wilensdale had it all under control. Clayton’s puzzlement was written on his face. “What is this?”

Tobias held up the rest. “These were exchanged a few months before father died.” A pained look shared between the brothers accounted for their sad remembrance of the late Earl’s demise after a long struggle with melancholia—it loomed large in their memories still. “It seems Father took an idea for a new business to the Duke of Wilensdale. The Duke was agreeable at first but then blindsided Father, double-crossing him and taking the business for himself. One of the Duke’s later responses refuses to accept that Father might have lost any large sum of money, so it seems Father blamed Wilensdale for at least some of his money troubles.”

Clayton felt his heart turn to lead and sink into his stomach. “Will the letters alone be proof of their partnership?”

His brother shook his head. “There’s never any explicit agreement of partnership, nor any contract of shares in the business. Even with only the Duke’s replies, it seems clear to me that the conversation was genial until it took a very sudden turn. That letter,” the Earl indicated the paper in Clayton’s hands with a pointing finger, “is the turning point. I can practically hear Father’s rude response to it, and the Duke’s replies turn sharper as well.”

Clayton’s stomach roiled with the possibilities. Had their father gone into business trying to dig himself out of debt, only to be swindled by someone like the Duke of Wilensdale? I can’t very well challenge him to a duel over incomplete correspondence. It was all he could do to remain in his seat and not release the boiling rage churning in his gut.  If Clayton or his brother had known how deeply their father’s personal finances had sunk, they might have been able to do something before their father’s melancholia claimed him, but neither had had any idea at the time. Why hadn’t Father come to us about this idea? Perhaps more importantly, what could lesser nobility like us do to return the ill wishes and knock Wilensdale down a notch?

Chapter Two

“Oh my dear, sweet Lila. You look magnificent.” Lila’s aunt’s eyes glistened as she peered past Lila into the modiste’s mirror. The cerulean ball gown flattered the young blonde woman better than a truer pastel shade might, really making her blue eyes stand out and sparkle. “You will do your father proud,” Aunt Maria added, dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes.

The satin dress was a lovely color, and it suited her very nicely. The azure and gold brocade trim at the high waist and hem shone in the reflected sunlight within Madame Gautier’s shop. “Thank you, Madame. You have remade me a lady.” Her slippers were made to match the brocade, and the gold thread’s shining peeked from beneath her skirts when she moved.

Both older women laughed politely at her jest—Lila had been a lady from the day she was born to the Duke and Duchess of Wilensdale—though she had not meant it as such. Until now, she had felt unprepared for her entrance to society. This gown helped her feel the part. Still, all Lila could think was that it ought to be her mother taking her for this final fitting of the gown she would wear at her debut soirée two days hence. Not that she didn’t appreciate her aunt, but she missed her mother sorely at times like this. Three years was not nearly long enough to distance herself from the raw emotions of losing her mother to a sudden illness. Aunt Maria had so far managed to guide Lila around the many emotional moments in preparing for her debut, but this one brought tears to her eyes.

“Here, my dear,” her aunt offered quietly, extending the handkerchief.

Lila took it, mute, and wiped her eyes. The modiste politely averted her eyes and checked the puff of the sleeves and how well the neckline lay. Lila had no desire to turn into a watering pot in such a prominent location. Already she spied familiar faces directing longing glances through the front window, even if she and her new finery were hidden for the moment behind a screen to maintain her dignity and the surprise of her attire. “This is perfect. Are the other gowns prepared?” There were many events planned for the opening of the London Season, and more would likely be announced before the social year concluded that summer. While some of Lila’s gowns had been ordered and made in advance, it was hard to get the same quality outside London.

“Yes, my lady. Camille will help you with the next.” The Frenchwoman gestured politely to the dressing room where one of the seamstresses had helped Lila dress.

Lila handed her aunt back the handkerchief with a small smile. Don’t cry. Just keep moving; don’t cry. As she passed toward the dressing room, her aunt and the modiste returned to the settee and their tea tray. She was glad her aunt had decided to remain at Wilensdale House this week as they finished all the plans for the soirée. As the Dowager Marchioness of Evensburg, Maria had the skills to ensure such a grand party was put together properly. For all Lila had been doing in the country as her father’s hostess, she believed herself unequal to the task of the far more demanding London ball. With Aunt Maria at the ducal manor at breakfast each day, they had saved time with their preparations, but more importantly, maintained Lila’s emotional stability.

Presented with a lavender gown as she entered the dressing room, Lila smiled and tried to push back further thoughts of her mother until she could be alone later. She had enough to worry about in the next two days leading up to the party, like her father’s repeated reminders of the status of her suitors. Lila loved him, but unlike her romantic mother, she knew the Duke of Wilensdale cared not for matters of the heart, only titles and land. Any marriage Lila made would be a business transaction to her father, even though she had promised her dying mother she would marry for love.

When Lila’s mother’s sudden illness had confined her to bed, the duchess had grown bored with optimism very quickly, but, at the time, Lila had refused to believe her mother wouldn’t recover. The fact Lila was distraught, and her husband was not had led the duchess to a frank discussion of how rarely love was a part of noble marriages. It had mattered so much to her that her only child married for love, that Lila had sworn she would. She would have promised her mother anything if it might help her get well, but the promise had begun haunting her as soon as her debut was mentioned last winter.

It would be up to Lila to try and find a marquess or Duke who might suit her father’s wishes with whom she could conceivably fall in love to honor her promise to her mother. All the while, every other debutante schemed for the same, the highest positions available to them. What Lila wouldn’t give for her mother’s help navigating through society without incident.

Again Lila put her mother from her mind and tried to focus on her new wardrobe, particularly the next one with its lace overlay. To which one of the many parties coming after her own she would wear this dress escaped her in that instant, but the lacy gown made her look like a princess if she did say so herself.

*****

The day of Lila’s debut flew by as both she and her aunt saw personally to the details to make certain the Duke’s hospitality would be the pinnacle of the season’s opening weekend. Lila herself was so nervous she could barely remember everything that happened leading up to dinner. Still, as she had not been formally introduced to any gentlemen yet, her dinner partner was her cousin, who made it his purpose to force her to smile and forget herself. Lila had to admit she liked her father’s heir despite his position, which would someday oust her from her own home if she had not yet married.

It was only after dinner when her father took her hand and led her to the dance floor that she could begin to believe the night had been a success. “You look just like your mother,” her father told her. “She would be proud of you tonight.” It was uncharacteristic of him to praise her, but she was beyond grateful.

“Thank you, Father. I wish she were here to see it.”

Her father led Lila through the minuet without error, though he was a bit stiffer than many gentlemen who joined the dance around them. “As long as you can attract the eye of a Duke or marquess, there’s no reason to think she isn’t smiling on you from Heaven.”

That stung a bit. No doubt the Duke meant it as encouragement, but Lila knew full well her mother had wished her to look beyond the title and judge men on their personal merits, not their wealth.

“There are a number of gentlemen here tonight with whom a match would be more than suitable. I shall introduce you to most of them. See that you give them reason to call upon you come tomorrow.”

“Yes, Father.” There was nothing else she could say. Lila knew her duty, even as she hoped these men would not be awful people twice her age. Surely there are young noblemen of a station Father won’t abhor? Lila focused on the dance rather than dwell on hypothetical problems, trying to float the way her dance instructor liked.

As the dance ended, her father’s attention was drawn to one side. “Perfect. Come, my dear, let me introduce you around.” He escorted her to one side as the dancers readied themselves for the next set, heading straight for a tall, dark, and handsome gentleman more than ten years her senior. As soon as the man saw them coming, he turned a brilliant smile on her. He bowed as the Duke arrived beside him, nodding to the other nobleman. “Good evening, Your Grace. Please allow me to present my daughter, Lady Lila. Lila, His Grace, the Duke of Amberdene.”

The handsome Duke bowed over her hand. “Good evening, my lady.”

“Your Grace,” Lila murmured, curtseying.

“May I have the honor of this dance?” His brown eyes were kind, and he didn’t look through her as so many had. Then again, now that she had been introduced to him, he was permitted to interact with her.

Lila saw her father’s slight head shake in her peripheral vision and smiled even as she raised the dance card at her wrist. “Perhaps the next dance, Your Grace? I must greet our guests before allowing myself the privilege.”

Amberdene returned her smile, accepting the card and signing it—twice. If that wasn’t a positive signal, she didn’t know what was. “Very well, my lady, until the waltz.” He nodded politely to her father and let them pass. It seemed whomever the Duke had been conversing with was not high on her father’s list of introductions.

The Duke reclaimed his daughter’s hand, his fingers tightening briefly on hers in approval as he escorted her onward. Lila was introduced to three marquesses, another Duke, and two Earls who would one day inherit their father’s grander title and their grandfather’s. At least the Earls were of an age with her, which seemed like a much more pleasant arrangement than someone more than ten years her senior—or the one marquess who was older still. Apparently, anyone less would not suit, for her father bypassed them completely, despite the visible evidence that many had hoped for a chance to greet the Duke and his daughter on her debut. Lila’s dance card filled rapidly, and she had to refuse the request of one marquess who would have claimed two dances as the Duke of Amberdene had.

The first strains of the waltz precipitated the arrival of the Duke of Amberdene at her elbow. His nod in her father’s direction begged forgiveness for stealing her away amidst an ongoing conversation, but that did not preclude him from taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor. “My dear lady, you looked rather hemmed in by all your adoring suitors.” His hand settled at her waist, though she did not feel any fluttering such as the ladies in her books did upon meeting their true love.

Lila felt heat flood her cheeks. She had been surrounded; it was true, but she would not have brought attention to it. “I hope you are enjoying your evening, Your Grace.” He danced well, directing her around the floor with ease. His shoulders were muscular but not more than any other man. His physique suggested he didn’t do anything more tiring than horseback riding and likely spent much of his time in business or more relaxed leisure pursuits. Hopefully, such a man would have time to spend with his wife, though she had trouble picturing herself in that role.

“A fine showing, Lady Lila.” The nobleman’s eyes strayed briefly from her own, but it was only a momentary lapse.

Is it too much to ask that he be distracted by someone off the floor rather than my bosom? “I don’t believe I’m familiar with Amberdene,” Lila said, following his lead around the dance floor. “Are your lands far from London, Your Grace?”

“Not that much farther than Wilensdale, but north of London instead of west. With the coastline, we have more storms than I believe you are used to, but the beaches are well worth it.” He seemed more than happy to expound upon his lands as if that would make her like him more. Perhaps if she were more like her father, it might. “Does your father entertain much in Wilensdale?”

“Now and again, he does. More often dinners with business acquaintances than balls such as these.” If her aunt hadn’t helped, Lila doubted this would have been such a success.

“Every nobleman should have a ball now and again. Society would languish if not for such events to bring together like minds for business and pleasure. I’m sure I haven’t had one in recent history, but now that I’ve seen your esteemed guest list, I certainly shall. You have done very well, Lady Lila. All the prominent members of the ton have come tonight. Most are here to see you, I would imagine, but they will all have to strive to reach similar excellence with their gatherings this summer.”

It was hard to tell how he might behave in a more personal setting, but as they discussed the upcoming Season and finished their waltz, Lila could hope that he would call upon her in the coming days. She begged silently that the Duke would have more personality in a less crowded setting. Perhaps then he would sweep me off my feet.

The Marquess of Strickland was her next dance partner, and he waited to one side politely as the Duke of Amberdene bowed over Lila’s hand once more.  “I shall see you shortly, Lady Lila. I look forward to getting to know more about you during our next dance set.”

As the marquess swept her into the next dance, Lila pasted on a polite smile but found herself sighing mentally. If her father forced her to marry a Duke, Amberdene would not be completely unpalatable, but she felt nothing for him. Her mother’s words weighed on her—judging Amberdene on his merits was hard to do when he had not given her any insight into himself. He seemed too eager to impress her and had done nothing to engage her emotions, only discuss his duchy’s selling points. Still, she had high hopes for the other gentlemen to whom she had been introduced, for surely one of them might interest her enough she could fall in love with him.

*****

Lila awoke the next morning when her maid threw the curtains open. She groaned quietly at the shaft of bright sunlight that fell across her face. Apparently, it was later than she usually slept of a morning, but then, she had been up quite late the night prior. She idly wondered if she could plead a headache and go back to sleep. Her feet ached, a reminder of her evening of dancing with the gentlemen of the ton. “What time is it, Leeson?”

“Past nine o’clock, my lady. Your father and aunt await you at breakfast.” Lila let her head fall back on her pillow and moaned, making her maid giggle. Lila’s young maid was the closest person to her these days, in the absence of her devoted mother. Were they not so unequal in social status, they might have been friends.

“You should thank your aunt for allowing you to sleep this long when your father would have had you up an hour ago.”

“Surely he can let me sleep after such a long night,” Lila whined. Even so, she threw back the covers and rose. If it was as late as Leeson said, she had little time to waste. She would not be so hasty to dance the night away again. Lila tossed her nightdress to the maid and scrubbed quickly at the washstand, allowing Leeson to dress her in a chemise. While Lila drew on her stockings, her maid laid out a green day dress and then fussed with her corset. They made remarkable time together, and soon enough, Lila was headed downstairs to meet her family and break her fast.

Upon entering the breakfast room, her aunt looked up with a smile, but it was her father, laying down his broadsheets and giving her a delightedly smug grin, that drew Lila’s attention. “Good morning, Father, Aunt.”

“Good morning,” both echoed. It was the Duke who elaborated. “You have done us proud, Lila. You have graced the scandal sheets, which offer very flattering promises about your potential.”

“They’ve already dubbed you the diamond of the Season,” her aunt added, looking quite pleased herself.

Her father nodded in agreement. “You certainly won’t have to settle for an heir at this rate. Amberdene seemed interested, wouldn’t you agree?” He didn’t wait for her to comment. “If you secured an offer of marriage from him, it would certainly secure my ties in the sugar trade. His connections are many and far-reaching. Most promising, indeed.” He grasped the broadsheets again but fixed her with a stern gaze. “You must do everything you can to ensure he offers for your hand.”

There was no way to respond to such comments but, “Yes, Father.” Lila nodded politely, feeling her appetite wither. The Duke of Amberdene had been a perfect gentleman the night before and a good dance partner. But is it too much to expect to have my heart race at the sight of him? Lila felt nothing in particular for him—truly, neither pleasure nor distaste, for which she was grateful—but her lack of any feelings in his regard made him less appealing in her eyes. At least she could imagine they would get on well enough, perhaps even grow to love one another at some point. She prayed that she might be able to find love in such a match despite her father’s favor for the Duke’s titles and connection. Please Mama, help me find something worthy in him. I will make a love match—I won’t let you down.

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Prologue

London, 1804

 Love was in copious supply for Jessie during her carefree childhood, most often in the form of her two closest friends, Abigail, and Anthony. As her family’s nearest neighbors, the three had grown up together. With the Clarks spending their summer at their country estate, Jessie had the happy pleasure of an invitation to join them. Her mother had constantly reminded her how lucky she was to be the recipient of favors by such a prestigious family.

None of that mattered to Jessie.

These were her best friends, and that was all she cared about.

Spring was only just transitioning into summer, and the air was hot and humid that day. Jessie smiled at the feel of the sun on her skin and watched her two best friends as they chased each other endlessly. The trio had been out here for hours, even missing lunch.

Her mother would chide her undoubtedly for growing too dark and tan, but she didn’t care. Though fair skin was fashionable and tan skin was frowned upon, Jessie didn’t worry about the opinions of others. As she soaked up the rays, it couldn’t have been farther from her mind.

Today everything was perfect.

Jessie let out a girlish laugh as she scrambled up into the treehouse that her best friend’s father had built. The summer air was redolent with the scent of roses, and the young blonde girl inhaled the fragrance deeply.

“You can’t catch me,” the 11-year-old giggled, glancing back at Abigail, who was her junior by a year.

Abigail shook her head in denial. “You will not best me,” the other girl laughed. Her dark brown hair was wild and flew around her face as she pursued Jessie. “I shall be the victor.”

“I think not,” the third member of the party, Anthony, declared. His eyes appeared a deep shade of hazelnut in the afternoon light. Jessie had often noticed the sparkle in those eyes.

“Oh, you think you can win, Brother?” Abigail challenged her older sibling. Glaring, she shook her head. “This is my game, and I am determined to succeed.”

Hopping down from the treehouse, Jessie threw her arms into the air. “Neither of you will be the victor,” she said softly. “As I shall win!”

With that, she launched away, diving, and darting behind the cover of the trees as her friends dashed after her. Anthony pursued her determinedly, his hands skimming her back as he came within inches of collaring her. Diving away, she managed to evade him. His foot sprang out to block her, but she leaped over it.

“I do believe you’re trying to cheat, Anthony Clark!” Jessie exclaimed in mock horror.

Anthony grinned boyishly. “Would I do such a thing?” he chuckled innocently, raking a hand through his dark blond hair.

“I wouldn’t put it past you!” she shot back with a giggle.

“He’s far too competitive,” his sister chimed in from behind a tree. “Probably because he’s such a sore loser. You’ve never seen such a crybaby as when my brother fails to win.”

“I resent that!” Anthony protested in offense, rushing toward his sister’s hiding place.

Jessie smiled at her friends, lovingly shaking her head at their antics. Their melodic laughter rang out loudly in the woodland that surrounded the Earl of Plymouth’s vast estate.

Jessie had often thought her friends’ father must have been the richest man in England to possess such a large home with these majestic grounds. Her own home was more modest, so she loved to visit this place. It was always filled with fun and laughter. Sometimes, she envied her friends for having a sibling. As an only child, she had not been blessed with such fortune.

Jessie completed another lap around the tree in which the treehouse sat. Grabbing the bark of the tree, she attempted to pull herself back into the treehouse, but suddenly her foot slipped and she lost her balance. A scream escaped from her lips as she tumbled the short distance to the ground and landed awkwardly on her foot.

The instant her foot touched the ground, Jessie knew that something was seriously wrong. Pain cascaded through her leg, and she felt the prickling of tears at the back of her eyes.

“Abby! Anthony!” she called out hoarsely, cradling her leg.

In an instant, Anthony was at her side, brushing her matted blonde curls from her forehead. His face was contorted in concern, and she knew the injury must be bad from the horror etched into his expression. The older boy dropped to his knees beside her, his fingers running over her tender leg. He clasped her hand tightly, and their fingers intertwined. He offered her a reassuring smile, wordlessly promising her that she would be alright.

“Is it your foot?” Abigail asked worriedly, wringing her hands together as she peered over her brother.

Jessie’s breath hitched painfully in her chest. “My leg hurts,” she gasped, screwing her blue eyes shut. “The pain- I can barely breathe.”

Hot tears trailed down her cheeks, and she gritted her teeth to ward off the pain. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. Tiny shards of agony shot through every nerve in her leg. Jessie heard an inhuman howling and suspected it may have spilled from her lips.

“Brother, we simply must do something!” Abigail shrieked, visibly starting to panic.

Anthony bobbed his head in agreement. Without a word, the 13-year-old boy scooped Jessie into his sturdy arms and strode toward the house. Her arms wound around his neck as she clung to him, breathing in the comforting scent of his chest. Despite the pain, she felt safe, calm, and protected in his hold. Every movement made her leg ache, but she focused on the way his arms felt around her instead of the pain.

The moment the three friends reached the house, chaos set in. A servant was sent to fetch the physician, and the surgeon while the countess fussed endlessly over Jessie. Anthony’s mother was a kind soul, but she was far from calm. The worry in her eyes was evident as she instructed another servant to alert Jessie’s parents to the accident.

It was only hours later after the surgeon had set her leg and the physician had assured her that she would be fine, that Jessie finally had a chance to relax. Her parents had been and gone, agreeing to allow her to remain in the house for the next few days.

“How could you be so foolish?” her mother had asked. “What will the Earl and Countess of Plymouth think of you?”

 “It was an accident,” Jessie had sobbed, mournfully soaking in her mother’s disdainful expression.

 Lady Allen had shaken her head. “They extend a kind invitation to you, and you repay them by causing all this disruption. This doesn’t look good for our family. What a clumsy girl, you are.”

 “Let the child be,” her father had stepped in, placing a calming hand on his wife’s shoulder. “She didn’t mean to get hurt.”

 “Our daughter is always like this,” her mother had retorted sharply. “We can only hope that she doesn’t bring such negative attention to us when she gets older.”

 Her mother’s words still rung in her ears. It hurt that the woman who’d birthed her was more concerned with the opinions of others than her own health. Swallowing hard, she was glad that she didn’t have to return home for a while. At least that would give her some respite from her mother’s critical eyes and condemnation.

The physician had insisted that she shouldn’t be moved back to her own house as the return journey to Grosvenor Square would be too long and painful for her in this condition, so her parents didn’t have a choice. He ordered that she must remain there until she was fully healed. However, she was not going to be alone as her governess was to stay at the house with her until she was sufficiently recovered to return home.

Abigail had fussed over her for several hours before the countess had finally pried her away from her best friend’s side. The younger girl had been reluctant to leave, but she had grudgingly agreed to let Jessie get some peace. Now, Jessie lay alone in the dim candlelight with only her recollections of the day.

A faint knock on the heavy wooden door stilled her thoughts. “Come in,” she called.

Just like that, Anthony entered the room. Jessie hadn’t seen him since he had gently laid her down on the bed when they’d arrived at the house. She noticed he was holding a small book in his hands. Concern was etched on his face as he looked at her small, prone body in the bed and Jessie ventured a reassuring smile.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, setting the book down on the end of the bed and wringing his hands.

“Much better,” she assured him. “The physician gave me a tincture of laudanum, and my governess has gone in search of some more herbs to soothe my pain.”

“I was worried,” he admitted. “I hated to see you in so much pain.”

“I’ll survive.”

He picked up the book and handed it to her. “This is for you.” Their fingers gently brushed as she took the book from him, and Jessie shivered at the sensation.

“What is it?”

“It’s a book.”

Jessie rolled her eyes. “I can see that,” she scoffed good-naturedly. “I meant, why are you giving it to me?”

“It’s my favorite book. I read it whenever I feel upset, or I cannot sleep. It’s the tale of a valiant knight who rescues a damsel from an evil dragon. He must fight the dragon and overcome many obstacles to save her. The story always makes me feel better. I thought that you might need it more than I do.”

Touched by the gesture, Jessie smiled softly. It was the first time that she’d genuinely smiled since her accident. Anthony’s cheeks were tinted with a faint hue of red as she smiled at him. Her blue eyes possessed that familiar sparkle again as she gazed at him.

“Thank you, Anthony,” she whispered.

“I wanted to do all I could to help you,” he assured her. “I couldn’t stand seeing you in so much pain.”

Jessie swallowed hard. Her mind was whirling as she took in the intensity in his voice. She was deeply touched by how heartfelt his words seemed. In his presence, she felt so safe and secure.

“You saved me today.”

“I’ll always be by your side,” he promised. “I’ll protect you from any bad things that may happen, Jessie.”

The room grew silent as their eyes locked. Before she even realized what she was doing, Jessie leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek. Instantly, she pulled away and shrugged innocently.

Jessie felt her heart flutter inside her chest. Her love for him was a platonic adoration that had been forged through time and strengthened today. Deep down, she sensed that the years ahead would bring challenges for her, but she was sure that he would be there at her side to keep her safe whenever she needed him.

He was her rock, and she loved him for that.

Chapter One

8 years later

Jessie sat on her bed, staring out at the winter landscape. Her mind was full of negative thoughts. How could it not be? Jessie was betrothed, yet it did not make her happy. She was not marrying the man of her dreams. In fact, she loathed the man she was to marry.

Nathaniel, Viscount Barrington, was the pinnacle of everything she despised in a person, and he had destroyed all the innocent dreams she once had. When she was a little girl, she had always wished to marry for love, but she didn’t love Nathaniel. In truth, she didn’t even like him.

Barrington’s smug and arrogant demeanor sickened her. He was boastful and superficial, and his vast wealth did nothing to tempt her to think otherwise. Yet, despite her dark and disgusting thoughts about him, their betrothal would soon be official. The announcement would soon be in the newspapers, and the banns would imminently be called.

This was not how her life was supposed to be. As a child, she had always imagined herself as a princess who would be swept away by a charming prince someday. Or, at least, she would marry someone she cared about. Sadly, there had only been one man for whom she’d ever really harbored an affection.

That thought triggered her mind to drift back to thoughts of the single man who’d ever really affected her. She couldn’t help but remember a day long ago when she’d injured herself and been saved by a boy who was not yet a man. Anthony disappeared from her life many years ago, but he never left her thoughts. He had been one of her closest friends, and she had truly thought that he would never desert her.

After tragedy struck his family, he’d disappeared from her life, fleeing without so much as a goodbye. It hurt to know that he was out there somewhere in the world, uncaring and oblivious to her unhappy existence here.

Jessie shook her head. She still longed to feel close to him. Reaching under her bed, she plucked out the small steel locked box she kept under there. As she opened it, she stared down as the mass of trinkets inside. Searching through the pile, she retrieved two items and placed them beside her on the coverlet.

Taking the leather-bound book in her hands, she ran her fingers over the covers, relishing the familiar feel of the rough leather. She’d kept this book close to her for eight years and read it over and over again. While she loved the story, it was the deeper meaning behind it that strummed at her heartstrings.

It was the book Anthony had gifted her on the day she hurt her leg.

Swallowing hard, she opened it and flicked through the well-worn pages. Though the ink had faded slightly, she started to scan the words.

The prince reeled back, his sword cutting through the rough neck of the dragon, finally slaying it. It swayed this way and that, roaring in pain. Finally, he knew the fight was over as it crumpled to the ground with a mighty crash.

 Rushing over to the supine princess as she lay on the bed, he smiled at her. She was locked in a slumber from which only a kiss could stir her. Leaning down, he brushed her lips and pulled back with an anxious wait.

Her eyes fluttered open, momentarily unseeing as she regained her senses. Her blue gaze was deep and tormented, still saturated with the memories of the dragon’s claws snatching her away. Suddenly, she snapped her head to glance at the dragon’s body, lying on the ground next to them. At that moment, the prince knew she realized she was safe. He drew her into his arms cradling her. No longer would she have to worry about anything.

 He would always be there to protect her from that moment onward.

Jessie felt a single tear track its way down her cheek as she recalled how she’d dreamed of finding a prince who would save her in such a way. Many a night, she’d opened this book and read it by candlelight, lost in her fantasies of a romantic prince slaying any demons that plagued her. Now, she knew the story by heart. She suspected the book’s original owner would be significantly less familiar to her if she saw him now.

Of course, she was sure that it would be a long time before she saw Anthony again.

With a melancholy sigh, Jessie snapped the book closed and placed it back into the box before lifting the other item on the bed. As she unfolded the letter, gently letting her fingers brush the broken wax seal, she gulped.

While the book stirred pleasant memories within her, this letter brought tears to her eyes every time she read it. Her mind whirled as she skimmed over the impersonal words.

“I regret that I couldn’t say goodbye.”

 “I fear I shall be gone for an extended duration. I do not hope to return except to attend to urgent business on the estate.”

 “I trust you will take care of my sister in my absence.”

 At that moment, Jessie wanted to rage and cry. Anthony’s last letter to her had arrived after his departure. As the Plymouth home had been in mourning, she hadn’t even found out that he’d left until the letter arrived. She’d never heard from him since.

She felt another tear roll down her face when she remembered the days after she discovered he had left. It was in the wake of the terrible tragedy that had defined his family’s life forever. She hated to think of it because she felt his pain like it was her own. When they were children, they’d shared everything, but he’d refused to turn to her after the death of his father. He’d eschewed any attempts she made to try and contact him. Before she could reach out, he’d gone.

Although she didn’t know every detail of what happened, she was aware that the Earl of Plymouth had been killed in a horrible carriage accident and that Anthony blamed himself. Unfortunately, he’d shut himself off from her after that.

Jessie wished things could have been different. There was a small part of her, deep down inside, that still dreamed of what life would be like as Anthony’s wife. For years, she’d pushed away those feelings. Ever since he’d left town, she’d put any hopes of being with Anthony out of her mind. Now, this impending betrothal had coaxed old memories from the depths of her heart and these thoughts haunted her.

Sadly, those girlish dreams couldn’t possibly come true.

From what she’d heard from Abigail, he was perfectly happy in Europe on the Grand Tour. Truthfully, Jessie was a little jealous that gentlemen were able to undertake those travels through Europe and experience all the delights of the continent. So many wealthy young men were able to embark on a journey that was filled with the richest culture and arts while, as a woman, she would never be able to indulge in such a thing.

Jessie’s mood darkened. It was likely that Anthony was enjoying himself more than he ever could in England, considering his seeming reluctance to spend any length of time in London. She suspected he would find some pretty French girl to marry. They would have the cutest, most elegant children and be the perfect family. Of course, Jessie would be married to that despicable viscount instead. A shudder ran through her.

Dwelling on her inevitable marriage to the Viscount would strip her of her sanity if she allowed it. She needed to escape from the tumult of thoughts in her head. Rising to her feet, she left the parlor. A walk outside in the crisp air would be just the trick for clearing her mind.

Jessie rose from her bed, glancing in the mirror as she passed it. Soaking in her reflection, she was struck by how mature she looked now. Childhood was long gone, and her slender face was that of a woman’s now. Her blonde hair was pinned up, with a few curls cascading around her face. However, sadness resonated in her deep blue eyes. To many, that melancholy would be imperceptible, but she could see it swirling in the depths of her gaze.

She wondered if there would be a time when she would ever be happy again.

Certainly not if she did go through with her marriage to the viscount.

Gritting her teeth, she resolved not to waste another thought on Barrington that day. Pushing her pain from her mind, she exited her bedchamber, determined to fix her mind on happier thoughts. As she padded the hallway of her home toward the door, she paused outside her father’s study.

From the other side of the door, she could hear the heated voices of her parents, and a frown furrowed her brow. It was rare for her parents to argue so intensely and she felt a frisson of concern. While she knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, her inherent curiosity got the better of her. Holding her breath, she leaned toward the heavy wooden door.

“How could you be so foolish?” her mother yelled harshly. “Didn’t you think about what you were doing?”

“Would you have preferred every merchant in the town to batter down our doors?” her father shot back. “I was left without any alternatives.”

“How did you end up owing such a large amount to Viscount Barrington? Did you gamble our fortune away at the card tables?” Without waiting for a response, her mother plowed on. “It all makes sense now. How could I have been so naïve? I thought you simply wanted our daughter to make a good marriage, but instead, we are surrendering her to pay for your debts! Can you imagine what our neighbors would think if they found out how much money you owe? We would become the laughing stock of every person in town. Do you want us to be pariahs?”

“I had no choice but to take everything on credit,” he responded firmly. “Your pretty clothes and perfumes have cost me a fortune.”

Jessie heard her mother cluck in disgust. “You’re placing the blame on my shoulders? How dare you!”

“Your demands for every luxury in England caused this!” yelled her father. A crash sounded as if he’d slammed his hands down onto his desk. “I was trying to make you happy. It’s all I’ve ever done since I took you as my wife. But nothing was ever good enough for you, was it? There always had to be more. No matter how much I gave you, you never quite managed to be satisfied.”

A scoff sounded from her mother’s lips. “If you were a real man, you would have kept our finances in order instead of squandering our fortune,” she sneered. “Jessica is the one who must now pay the price, and all we can do is conceal your misdeeds from our friends and neighbors, so we never become the object of the most terrible scandal in all of London.”

Her father sighed. “Indeed. I didn’t want anyone to find out, not even you. I tried to keep this from you, but I suppose it is better that you know the truth. Yes, I made the deal with Viscount Barrington and promised him Jessica as collateral. Now that I cannot pay, he has made it clear he intends to collect. She will be his wife, and there is no choice in the matter.”

Jessie gasped reeled back as the revelation hit the air. A wave of dizziness crashed over her, almost knocking her off her feet. Steadying herself against the wall, she couldn’t believe her ears. This couldn’t be real. Surely, her dearest father wouldn’t have done such a thing! Yet she’d heard it herself and there was no room for misunderstanding. The physical ache in her heart intensified. It was bad enough to have been betrothed to the viscount, but it was even worse to be sold to him to repay her father’s debts.

How could this be?

Turning back to the door, she swallowed down the bitter tang of bile that flooded her throat. She didn’t want to hear any more, but she couldn’t seem to drag herself away.

“You know how our daughter is,” her mother was saying. “She will fight us.”

Lord Allen cleared his throat. “Yet, I also know how you are,” he responded wearily. “You have a lifetime’s experience of making people do things they do not wish to do.”

A harsh laugh sounded from her mother. “I see that you wish to defame me, but I shall take that as a compliment. You’re right. I will ensure that Jessica marries the viscount. I will not see us ruined like beggars in the street. This marriage will be the finest that London has ever seen, and all our friends will believe it is the happiest of occasions. When Jessica walks down the aisle, she will do so with a smile. Yes, she will be left with no room for disagreement. You can be certain of that.”

Jessie felt herself inhale sharply and stumbled backward. Beneath her ribs, her heart thrummed wildly. Her head was spinning with a deluge of thoughts. Once again, she wondered how her parents could condemn her to a lifetime of misery so readily. The betrayal from her mother wasn’t unexpected. Lady Allen had always cared about status and the opinions of others more than she’d ever cared about her daughter. A lifetime of knowing her mother had made her realize that the older woman liked to shape the world to benefit her.

However, the thought that her father could see her ruined in such a way hurt badly. Ever since she was a little girl, she had trusted him, looked up to him, and respected him. In almost every way, she had been the model daughter. Now, he had sold her to that man like she was nothing more than chattel to be bartered.

It hurt. It really hurt.

The last time she could remember feeling such pain was that day so many years ago when she broke her leg. That same agony engulfed her once again. Of course, back then the pain had been entirely physical. This time, it was her emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Betrayal loomed like a physical presence in front of her, cutting her deeply to her core. She was entirely alone at that moment in time, and she had no friend to soothe away her pain with kind words or tender smiles.

Shaking herself out of her solemn reverie, she spun on her heels and returned swiftly to the parlor. Her appetite for exercise had been quelled by what she’d heard. Now, she longed for solitude to reflect on that terrible revelation. She felt like cattle bound for the slaughter with no possible escape.

Chapter Two 

The clock struck three in the parlor, but Jessie didn’t stir as she sat frozen on the large corner chair. As she contemplated what she had just overheard, she found it less and less believable. Turning it over in her mind, chewing on every single, terrible revelation, she just couldn’t seem to put it into perspective.

How could her father do this to her?

He was a respectable man, and while they didn’t share the wealth of some of the country’s families, they were far from poor. What in the world would have possessed him to sell her a viscount that she neither loved nor liked? He’d always wanted the best for her, even acting as a buffer between herself and her mother when the other woman had turned a critical tongue on her.

No, this had to be a mistake. She must have misheard their words or interpreted them wrongly. It was simply impossible. The only problem was that she knew it was entirely probable.

Jessie’s mother had come from a high-born family and demanded that her husband kept her in the style to which she had become accustomed during her youth. Though her father had only come from a family of merchants, he’d done as well as he could and tried so hard to please his young wife. Although her grandfather had been elevated from a common man to a lordship, her father’s side of the family had never been able to truly shake the legacy of their births. Jessie had spent years listening to the servants’ whisper and giggle about it.

When she failed to bear a son, she had set upon spending all her husband’s money to ensure there was nothing left to be entailed away. Seemingly, she had burned through their finances more quickly than anticipated. Added to the business mistakes that her father had made, it was no wonder that their money had drained away so quickly.

Now, Jessie was the one who had to suffer all because of her parents’ mistakes.

The opening of the door startled Jessie, and the young woman was surprised to see her parents enter the parlor. Primly, her mother entered first, hands clasped in front of the lace-trimmed ivory dress. Lord Allen traipsed behind his wife, shuffling forward stiffly. His face was etched with guilt, but her mother simply gave her a curt nod as she came to a standstill in front of Jessie, impassively staring down at her.

“We need to talk to you, Child,” the older woman announced without preamble. “Your father has something to tell you.”

Jessie gulped audibly. Schooling her expression into one of ignorance, Jessie fixed her gaze on her father. “Yes, Papa?”

He cleared his throat nervously and began to pace the floor. His form was vibrating with tension, but Jessie couldn’t even feel the slightest twinge of sympathy for him, as she normally would. The betrayal was too fresh and raw.

“Jessica, as you know, your marriage to Viscount Barrington is an important event for our family,” her father said formally.

Scowling, Jessie scoffed. “It wouldn’t be an event at all if you were not forcing me to marry that objectionable man.”

“Have some respect for your father,” her mother snapped. “I don’t wish to hear you talk like that again. You’re our child, and you will behave in a suitable manner.”

“Yes, I do understand that he is not the sort of husband you envisaged,” her father agreed, glancing at his wife’s irritated face. “I’m afraid I’m culpable, Jessica. I didn’t want you to know the truth, but now I see it would be wrong of me to keep it from you.”

Jessie narrowed her eyes. “What truth might that be, Father?”

He cleared his throat again. “Living in London and living up to the life of the ton is an expensive endeavor. Many of our neighbors enjoy limitless wealth, and money is of no importance to them. As you’re aware, I have never attained their status or money.”

“Money and status have never mattered to me,” Jessie interjected, cringing under her mother’s scornful glare.

Her father turned to her. “I know that child, but we cannot escape the conventions of society. Money matters to people in this town, and I couldn’t allow my family to be viewed as paupers. I wanted to give you and your mother everything you wished for.”

Jessie shook her head firmly. “I never wished for anything but love,” she replied.

“That’s because you’re a dreamer, Jessica,” chimed her mother derisively.

Ignoring his wife, Lord Allen continued. “Over the years, my income was not large enough to pay all of our debts. I never intended for the situation to become so severe but before I knew what was happening, it had grown out of control. My creditors demanded their repayments, and I was in a bind. I shan’t go into detail but, by a happy chance of fate, Viscount Barrington agreed to lend me a small sum of money.”

“It doesn’t sound like such a happy twist to the story,” Jessie commented, earning her another dark stare from her mother.

“Unfortunately, it did not cover all my debts, and I had to borrow more,” her father sighed, his eyes dulling. “Eventually, he agreed that he would only cover my latest debts if…”

“If what?” she demanded.

“If we could arrange your betrothal to him,” he admitted, shame coloring his face.

Despite her knowledge of the situation, hearing it from her father’s lips made the truth all the more real. Nausea flooded her throat, and she tasted the bitter flavor of betrayal. When she’d heard her parent’s argument through the door, she’d still enjoyed the luxury of denial, but she could no longer hide behind it. The truth hung between them, twisting, and flailing in her chest.

Rising to her feet, Jessie stared up at her father, imploring him with her eyes not to force her into this. When he refused to meet her gaze, she desperately felt that all was lost. “What if I refuse to marry him? What then?”

“Jessie,” her mother intervened. “You need to be reasonable. Our family is indebted to the Viscount. He has been very good to us. Without his funds, we would have been destitute. Is that what you want? Do you wish to see your mother tossed into the workhouse?”

Repressing a scoff, Jessie turned back to her father. “How can you allow this?” she asked him. “How can you force me to marry a man I despise?”

“Nonsense!” sneered her mother. “Despise him? How can you despise a man of such wealth and status? I never heard such foolish words.”

Narrowing her eyes, Jessie scowled. “Money doesn’t make a man good.”

“It makes him a good husband,” replied Lady Allen. Her eyes flickered to her husband. “Don’t you agree, dear?”

Until that moment, her father had never looked so old. Although he remained calm, his salt-and-pepper hair seemed to have turned grayer. His blue eyes were devoid of any sparkle, and his face looked weary and haggard. If she wasn’t so furious, Jessie might have felt a touch of sympathy for him.

Before he could venture an answer, Jessie’s mother interceded again. “Jessica, you are refusing to look at the positives. The Viscount is an esteemed member of society. He has so many connections, and he can give you a good life. A marriage to him will make you happy.”

“Happy? Is abject misery your definition of happiness?”

“Don’t be silly, girl! You sound hysterical, and the Viscount will not want a hysterical wife.”

“How lucky I must be,” she mumbled, too quietly for her mother to hear her.

Seemingly losing her patience, Lady Allen threw her arms askew. “Do you know how many girls would give anything to be in your position? He’s one of the most eligible bachelors in the county. His presence is coveted across the whole of England. I’ve heard that the Earl of Hereford and the Duke of Devonshire longed to marry their daughters to him.”

“If all these noblemen wanted their daughters to marry the repugnant Viscount, perhaps they should have borrowed money from him,” Jessie snapped. “It seems that is the way to secure his heart.”

Her mother looked like she was about to explode from fury, and her father frowned. “Jessica, please. Your mother and I only want what’s best for you.”

Swallowing back the tears that roughened her throat, Jessie blinked rapidly. “Do you truly believe this is what’s best for me?”

As her father remained silent, lowering his lashes, the girl glanced between her parents and sighed. She knew how her mother could be once she’d set her mind on something and she would not be moved. Many years of experience warned her that she needed to try a different way to persuade her parents that this prison of a marriage would be wrong for her. She wanted them to understand that she wouldn’t be happy if she married the viscount.

Jessie only had one final weapon in her arsenal to try and change their minds. “I wanted to marry for love,” she sighed pleadingly.

“You can learn to love him. Time brings great love if you are patient. My marriage to your father was arranged, and we learned to love each other in time.” Her mother shrugged. “You simply must open your mind to the possibility.”

Disbelievingly, Jessie turned to glance at her mother. “Why should I do such a thing?”

Ignoring her question, she continued. “I do not want to see any more hostility toward Lord Barrington, Jessica. He is a man of honor, and you will treat him as such.”

A slight blush colored Jessie’s cheeks as she remembered her poorly hidden dislike of the Viscount. While she had always remained entirely composed in his presence, her adverse reactions to him had been tangible. Jessie was a very expressive young woman, and she always struggled to conceal the look of disgust that flashed across her face when he greeted her with false sweetness. His brash, rude manner and constant boasts of his own talents had annoyed her to no end.

Jessie swallowed thickly and averted her eyes from her mother’s piercing gaze. Tears welled up once again behind her eyes, but she fought them off with every ounce of her strength. All her life she had believed that hope sprung eternal, but she couldn’t see any hope. Darkness surrounded her, and she couldn’t find a way out. It was almost unbearable.

No savior was coming to her rescue.

In this cruel world, Jessie was alone.

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Chapter 1

Edwina Ferguson reached her hand out towards her mother as the woman let out a rattled breath, but the woman only turned her head. She knew her mother was ashamed of her tears, but Edwina wished so much that she would at least let her comfort her. Her mother had always been a serene and graceful woman. For much of Edwina’s childhood, she thought of her mother as a beautiful white swan idly floating upon a lake.

Now, though, the woman in front of her was but a shell of what she’d once been. Her cheeks were sunken, and her eyes were puffy and red from tears. In truth, there was little trace of the statuesque beauty that Baroness Framsberry, Sophia Ferguson, once possessed. Her vibrancy had fizzled away, and she had become withdrawn. The stress of their financial situation had truly taken its toll on her.

Four men stood in their drawing-room surrounding the Ferguson family’s prized pianoforte. After a few moments of discussion amongst themselves, the men decided that the best way to remove it from home was to hoist it up and tilt it through the doorway as best as they could. Edwina’s heart sank to see them lay their grubby hands on the beloved pianoforte. Mother is surely torn apart inside by watching this scene!

“Careful there, boys!” one of the men barked loudly at his fellows. “Don’t want to scratch the woodwork! The thing won’t be worth half as much as it will be if it’s all scratched and dinged up, d’you hear?”

The men bumbled their way through the home, nearly bumping into Maria Burnette, Edwina’s lady’s maid, along the way. Maria stepped lightly out of their way, huffing at the men’s rudeness, and turned to shut the drawing-room door behind them. She caught Edwina’s eye, and her expression was both sympathetic and sisterly.

When the creditors had finished their task of removing the pianoforte from the Ferguson residence, one of them came back inside to tip his hat at Edwina.

“My lady,” he said, “give our regards to the Baron Framsberry.” It was all the man said before turning on his heel and joining his fellows in the street.

Edwina let her breath out in a wisp of air and tucked a lock of auburn hair back behind her ear. Her mother hadn’t turned to look at her at all yet. She simply stared at the empty corner where the pianoforte had sat for all of Edwina’s life. It had been a treasure of an instrument, an heirloom from when her mother had been a girl herself. Edwina’s childhood had been filled with beautiful melodies and comforting memories from that very pianoforte.

And now it was gone.

“Mother,” Edwina started to say. She only stopped when she realized that there was little consolation her mother could receive to comfort her.

“Edwina, my love,” her mother said. “I hate for you to see me in such a state. It’s just so hard to bear; even the pianoforte…” Her mother straightened her back, holding a handkerchief to her pursed, thin lips. “Well, I suppose that it won’t do to sit around sobbing over it, will it? Burnette, would you be so kind as to start a fresh pot of tea?”

Maria curtsied silently, her face neutral, and she turned to slip quietly through the drawing-room floor.

The Baroness tried to smile, but her eyes looked like a ghost’s. Edwina gently laid her hand upon her mother’s and tried to put on a cheerful expression, though she was sure that she did not look so convincing.

“It’s only an object, after all,” her mother went on to say. She ended the statement with a shivering sigh that seemed to course through her entire body. “I have you, my dear, and your father… That’s all I’ll need to be happy. I’m going to take a minute alone in my sitting room, my love. By the time I return, the tea should be ready to serve. I hope you don’t mind?”

At the mention of her father, she had seen her mother wilt only slightly, as if she were a flower taken away from the sun. Edwina felt her heart bruise even more at the thought of her parents’ love shriveling. The Ferguson home had been rife with tension of late, and it had been all Edwina could take to see her parents eating silently together and not meeting each other’s gaze when they did deign to speak.

Edwina shook her head, assuring her mother it was quite alright to take her moment alone. It was apparent that the Baroness needed some time to process her emotions somewhere on her own. With a slight dip of her head, the Baroness moved to the drawing-room door like a phantom, quietly shutting it behind her.

It had not even been a fortnight ago when Edwina heard her parents arguing in her father’s study one evening.

Edwina was retiring to her bedchamber and about to wish her parents goodnight. The sound of a tense conversation caused her to pause. Her father’s voice was tight and curt, and her mother’s voice was full of despair. It had set off bells of alarm in her head. She had never heard either one of them sound truly upset with the other.

“What can you mean ‘bankruptcy‘?” her mother had wailed. The words had torn a hole in Edwina’s world; she felt her knees nearly go weak at the shock, even now as she sat remembering. “Howard, whatever will we do?”

“Now, now, my dear,” her father had said. “Bankruptcy isn’t quite on the horizon as of yet. I have made several agreements with the creditors, a few deals here and there. We shall have to make sacrifices, but—”

“And you did not think to inform me before all of this could occur?” the Baroness interrupted.

“How could I have foreseen such a thing?” her father had answered sharply and then corrected his tone. “I’m sorry, Sophia, I shouldn’t be short with you. I just don’t understand how this could have happened. I was so sure that these partnerships would bode well for us.”

“But how could you have kept it from me?” her mother cried, her voice thick with pent-up emotion. “Howard, how many more months would you have hidden this truth?”

Her father’s voice dipped miserably, and he said something Edwina could not hear. By then, Edwina hadn’t been able to stand anymore. She had stolen away into her bedchamber and let the tears overtake her. The stress of the situation was simply too much to bear.

Since that night, the knowledge had taken up space in Edwina’s mind permanently. The memory of her mother’s distraught voice had snuck into her dreams; more than once, she had awoken with the words ringing in her ears. The notion that bankruptcy was not yet a serious threat had not made her feel any better, though she supposed it would make it easier to hide the fact from any prospective suitors. It was not exactly a silver lining, though it would make things a speck more bearable.

The height of Edwina’s misfortune, though, was the fact that she was coming upon her third season. The thought beat over and over inside her mind. She sat upon the drawing-room sofa, anxiously pulling at a loose button upon her marigold day gown. Her first season had been quite the trial and error; she had not truly been impressed with any of the young suitors she had been introduced to, though she had attracted a small handful of interested bachelors. One had been much too frumpy, and another dreadfully uninteresting. She had not felt a spark with the third and had nothing much at all in common with the fourth young man. Much of their conversation had been spent in awkward silence, and their dance had been stiff and uncomfortable.

The nerves of not finding a suitable husband during Edwina’s first season had carried over to her second. She was lovely enough, but she would flounder on her words whenever she was introduced to anyone. They would always end up offering their hand to another young woman, and she would be left as the wallflower again.

There must be a way to attract the attention of a suitable gentleman. The time has come to take matters into my own hands; I must not fail this season!         

          Edwina let her eyes drift to the door as it creaked open, expecting to see her mother returning. Instead, Maria entered, and her hands gripped a tray with her mother’s favored porcelain teapot balanced in the center.

“I suspect that the Baroness will want to take her time away,” Maria said. “I spied her on her way up the stairs. I’m ever so sorry, my lady.”

“I doubt she’ll be down in time for tea, but it was good of you to bring a place setting for her anyway,” Edwina agreed. “She’s been spending more and more time away in her parlor. I cannot blame her; our situation has been so hard on her. And my father…” Edwina was at a loss to comment on her father. It had been some time since he had even shown his face.

“If this news becomes public, Maria, I fear that we shall have a truly vicious scandal on our hands,” Edwina said. Her voice was thin and tight with stress. She put a trembling hand to her brow, her head pounding with nerves. Watching the creditors haul away her mother’s pianoforte had taken quite a toll upon her. “You know how the members of the ton like to talk. If they have something to crow about, then they’re all the better for it.”

Edwina sighed shakily, feeling at least a drop better for having someone to speak to about the nightmare in which she and her family had found themselves. Maria Burnette had been her lady’s maid for quite some time, and the two young ladies had formed a strong bond so that Edwina felt comfortable using Maria’s Christian name in private. Maria had always proven a trustworthy companion, and even now, she laid a comforting hand upon Edwina’s shoulder.

“Here, my lady,” she said. “Let me pour your tea. Your poor hands are shaking! Take a moment to calm down. I’m sure that you’ll catch the attention of some handsome gentleman with healthy coffers and a title to match. You just have to shake the nerves off first, that’s all.”

Maria did not need to mention that Edwina was beginning her third season. Finding a husband was of the utmost importance, and her time was quite limited. Edwina knew all of this, but she had been terribly nervous during her first and second seasons. Oh, how she wished she hadn’t acted the wallflower then! Perhaps her family would not have found themselves in such a situation if she would have already secured a husband with a good title and family name.

Edwina and Maria had been correct in their assumption. The Baroness did not come down from her private rooms for tea, nor did she for dinner. It had been hours since Edwina had seen her mother, but she could not fault her. The pianoforte had, after all, been her mother’s prized possession. At dinner, Edwina ate her venison meat pie in silence, her stomach churning.

I will have to fix this on my own. What I must do has been made ever more apparent with each passing moment.

As Edwina made her way to her room, she steeled herself. That morning’s gossip sheet was still sitting on her dressing table. With a steady hand, she snatched the parchment up, letting her eyes drift across the words.

“This season’s bachelors are ever in abundance,” the sheet read in bold letters.

“It is said that the Earl of Waterham, recent in his title, is in search of a bride as well as the very handsome Baron Ebsworth. The Baron is known to have substantial shares in the sugar trade; any young lady would be lucky to swoop him up! But the Marquess of Sheradale is, indeed, upon whom a smart young debutante should settle her eye. Our young wealthy lord is slated to inherit a duchy of considerable wealth. Luck is with her who catches his eye! The three most affluent eligible gentlemen will undoubtedly be quite coveted by this year’s debutantes.”

          Edwina nervously ran her hand through her auburn hair. She sat down hard at her desk, scooting forward with a purpose, and from the first drawer, she produced a sheet of plain, smooth parchment paper. Edwina dug out her quill and dipped it into a pool of jet-black ink. She touched the tip of the quill to the paper and began to write fervently.

Earl of Waterham
New gentleman on marriage mart
Good family name
Fine business connections

Baron Ebsworth
Shares in the sugar trade
One of the wealthiest bachelors
In good standing with businesses

Marquess of Sheradale
High title
Flourishing business deals
Promising estate

Many of the facts Edwina discovered from her good friends, Susanna and Phoebe. The two young women were ever so excited about their first season on the marriage mart and always kept their ears open about eligible gentlemen. Edwina was glad for that now.

The Baron Ebsworth, she knew, enjoyed riding in Hyde Park. Susanna had spotted him there more than once on her walks out with her mother. Edwina knew the Marquess of Sheradale would be a good match as he had a good title and family name. She had heard that he enjoyed hunting best of all, but she would have no opinion on that, of course. Her mind thought back to Phoebe, who had been buzzing about the gentleman only days ago; she had said that he was also quite the reader.

Edwina sighed, laying the quill down. At this point, it didn’t matter to her if her suitor had much in common with her at all. Though, there was one trait that she would insist he possesses. Her future husband must be truthful with her. Edwina had heard her mother’s broken-hearted sobbing in her father’s study that night. The fact that the Ferguson family would suffer sacrifices distressed her mother, certainly. But what sent Sophia over the edge was that the Baron hadn’t breathed a word of their situation to her at all. In fact, his insistence that his silence was because bankruptcy was not yet looming over them had not seemed to lessen the Baroness’ despair at all.

Edwina could not bear to be so humiliated and deceived by someone she held so dear. It had been enough that her father had kept their dire situation hidden away; she would not be able to stomach that from her future husband as well. Honesty would be of the utmost importance.

Edwina would be diligent in her search and would not rest until she discovered the gentleman who could pull her family out of the mess that her father had put them in. Edwina let her anxieties out through another long sigh but felt a little better with the plan in hand.

When she finally crawled into bed, Edwina closed her eyes and tried to let the weight of the world slip away. Slumber came with great difficulty, but when it did, it arrived with an armful of dreams. She fell asleep with a smile as she pictured the man who would come to her family’s rescue. He would be good-hearted, kind, and best of all, he would never, ever lie to her.

Chapter 2

Edwina had taken three days to study as much as she could about the gentlemen on her list. It had been a tedious process, but she had compiled a list of topics that she believed could get her through a lengthy conversation with each of them. And it was a good thing she had, for when her mother descended from the stairwell like a waif to inform her of the Countess of Welshire’s ball, Edwina knew she would be ready.

Maria took great care to make sure Edwina looked lovelier than ever. Edwina’s auburn hair was delicately curled, and Maria had lined her lips and eyes with a flattering rouge. When Edwina glanced in the mirror at herself, she felt a shoot of satisfaction take root in the pit of her stomach.

Tonight would be the night.

Edwina chose her most striking dress, a lovely peacock blue that complimented the auburn shimmer of her hair and accentuated her figure. She turned to the side and then back again, gazing at herself, ensuring she looked as stunning as she could. Satisfied with her appearance, she stepped lively down the stairwell to meet her parents. Her mother looked pale in a mauve gown, and her father was as wooden as a marionette at her side.

The carriage ride there was as silent as Edwina assumed it would be. Her parents were gravely quiet, but Edwina used it as an opportunity to go over what she knew of the gentlemen on her list in her mind. She was grateful when the carriage slowed in front of Welshire Manor; the stillness in the carriage had been insufferable. She had never seen her parents act so cold towards each other, and Edwina had found the effect stifling and unpleasant.

When the carriage door was opened for her, she stepped out to the sound of a boisterous orchestra. Merry laughter met her ears from all corners of the entrance hall. As the Fergusons filed into the ballroom, Edwina’s heart leaped to spy Phoebe and Susanna in the corner, chattering to each other gleefully.

At least I shall have my friends at my side.

Edwina felt a tiny drop of nerves leave her body as she squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up. She could not act the wallflower tonight. Though, perhaps one tiny chat with Phoebe and Susanna wouldn’t hurt. She drifted to the corner where the young women whispered and gossiped, joyous smiles on their pretty faces. Her parents were not far and could easily see her from their position in the ballroom.

“Edwina!” the two exclaimed at the same time. They beckoned her over and embraced her.

“You look lovely, dear,” Susanna said. “I was just telling Phoebe that her mother has quite outdone herself with the decor this time! Wouldn’t you agree, Edwina?”

Phoebe dipped her blonde head, ever gracious. “Thank you so much, Susanna,” she said. “Mother has had this ball on her mind for ever so long. I will be certain to let her know of your compliments. And the guests! Oh, Edwina, have you ever seen such handsome gentlemen? My heart is aflutter!”

It was true; there was a host of attractive young bachelors. But where were her chosen three? Edwina scanned the ballroom like a hawk, eyes narrowing. Her heart lit up when she spied the three gentlemen on her list, all standing in the same general area. The Marquess of Sheradale had a glass of something in his hand and was sipping upon it heartily; across from him, she could see the profile of the Baron Ebsworth, laughing at something that another gentleman was saying. And there, just beyond the Baron, was the Earl of Waterham, his dark black hair striking against the candlelight.

Edwina’s heart glowed with anticipation. She let her eyes focus on the gentlemen while she idly listened to Phoebe’s and Susanna’s conversation, agreeing where it was expected. Normally she would be fully engrossed in her friends’ conversation, but she had much more pressing matters on her mind.

Eventually, the Earl of Waterham looked up and caught her eye, just as she’d hoped he would. He saw her glancing his way, and his dark brows ticked upward just a smidge. Edwina had practiced looking coy in the mirror at home and employed the tactic now. She practically saw the interest fill his eyes, and her excitement built up in her chest, her heart beating wildly behind her breast.

“Ooh, Edwina!” Susanna squealed. Her hands shot to her mouth in glee. “It looks like you’ve got the eye of a gentleman!”

Indeed, the Earl had begun meandering over through the ballroom, ducking around guests in his attempt to get to Edwina. She swallowed nervously, trying to keep her anxieties from becoming apparent on her countenance. Her fingertips trembled slightly, but she stilled them, pressing her hands together. Edwina quickly carried herself back to her parents’ side, aware of the Earl’s eyes on her at all times.

Perhaps she could end her family’s troubles right this instant if she were able to capture the Earl’s heart!

Edwina let a tiny smile grace the bow of her lips as the Earl approached. He bowed to her courteously, showing his straight, white teeth in a smile, and then turned to her father, who had fallen into somewhat of a daze.

“Excuse me, my lord,” he said. “I was wondering perhaps if I may introduce myself.”

Edwina’s father scrunched his eyebrows, seeming to come out of deep thought. Once his eyes settled on the eager young lord in front of him, he nodded fervently.

“Why, of course,” he said. “Certainly you may, my good man. Please, allow me to introduce myself and my daughter. I am Howard Ferguson, the Baron Framsberry. May I present my daughter, Lady Edwina Ferguson?”

“My lady,” he said, turning to her. “Jonathan Eastbridge, Earl of Waterham. I’m enchanted to make your acquaintance. Would you be so kind as to allow me the honor of sharing your next dance set?”

Edwina’s joy was practically shining through her eyes; she knew it, though she could not help it.

“Of course, my lord,” she said. “I’m quite enthralled to meet you.”

Edwina was aware of every word she said, how her voice sounded. Thankfully, the Earl seemed only to notice her beautiful face and slender body.

As the music started up again, the Earl extended his arm for her. The two took to the ballroom floor, whirling around the other couples. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Phoebe and Susanna mooning over her and her dance partner happily. They would want to know every detail; of that, she was certain.

“My lady, might I say that you look marvelous tonight?” the Earl said as they twirled. “I caught your stare from across the ballroom, and I must say that I am glad to have spotted you.”

“And why is that, my lord?” Edwina asked, glancing up at him through her lashes.

“Well, I was searching for a lady who could be my equal in looks,” replied the Earl. “Your countenance is quite striking, Lady Ferguson. If you wouldn’t mind my saying so, my lady, I believe the two of us would make quite the lovely child.”

Edwina winced, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. She raised her eyes to look at him; he wore a broad smile that seemed too large for his face.

The nerve of this man!

It was true that the Earl was quite handsome, but the more Edwina stayed in his presence, the quicker she realized that the lord was more conceited than anyone she’d ever met. When he leaned in a little too close, the nauseating smell of scotch wafted from his breath. Edwina blanched, her face contorting. The last thing she needed in her life was a prideful drunkard. A man such as that could not be the picture of honesty, though he did have a good title and a vast inheritance.

Still, Edwina had two other names on her list. When their dance set came to a close, she curtsied graciously, allowing the Earl to escort her back to her place. She stood there in the company of her parents for a few moments before clearing her throat.

“Mother, Father,” she said, “would it be alright if I visit the refreshment table with Phoebe and Susanna? I find myself quite parched.”

“Of course, of course,” her father muttered, uninterested.

Edwina did not immediately re-join Phoebe and Susanna. Instead, she wandered around the ball, her skirts in hand, seeking out the Baron Ebsworth and the Marquess of Sheradale. Hopefully, either one of them would be better than the Earl, who was already back at the refreshment table with another glass of scotch in his hand.

Edwina stopped when she caught sight of Baron Ebsworth, sighing in relief. She hoped that he would see her and perhaps approach when he moved towards a lovely young lady and her chaperone. The young woman curtsied gracefully, and the Baron bowed low. The two of them fell into a conversation that Edwina could not hear. It would be rude and out of custom to cut into their time together, so she moved on.

Edwina sifted through the crowd, the music lifting into the air again. One by one, the dancers took their place. She picked her pace up, drifting between couples and around groups. The Marquess was sure to be there somewhere! And yet, she didn’t spy him among the host of people.

Edwina was just about to turn back to Phoebe and Susanna when she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision. His dark maroon coat stood out in the candlelight. Edwina’s heart leaped, and she tried her best to look as poised and demure as possible, to showcase her loveliness, but then her joy sank back into her stomach. On his arm was a lovely young lady, smiling beatifically, her ginger curls piled high on her head. They were headed to the dance floor; as the Marquess turned, she caught sight of his enamored expression, and a wall of dread toppled down upon her.

The gentlemen were already both spoken for; it was too late. She had been too slow and had chosen wrongly. Edwina’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and she trudged back to the corner. Her stomach twisted in knots as she considered failing another year, and a spinster’s fate loomed on the horizon, seeming ever imminent. If such a thing befell her, it would be impossible for her to help her family. Edwina tried to keep her head up, but deep down, she knew that she was in trouble.

*****

Marcus Steele, the Viscount Sedgeford, adjusted his position as quietly as he could. He had been crouched behind a shipping crate at the London docks for what felt like an eternity, staying as silent as he could. He had been waiting on the men for some time. Now that they had finally arrived, he felt a bloom of anticipation creep into his stomach and up into his lungs. Marcus barely dared to breathe as he pulled out his quizzing glasses.

The glasses had been specially made for him, crafted to see much farther than the average device would allow him. His endeavors always required secrecy, and the ability to spy from a distance was necessary. The War Office provided him with a great many tools to ensure his job was always done as discreetly as possible, but the quizzing glasses had become his most favored.

Two of the men next to the docked ship were still shrouded in shadow. Marcus let out an exasperated sigh, but when one of the men strode into the moonlight, he adjusted the quizzing glasses.

It was as he thought: the Marquess of Halenshire.

Satisfaction grew in Marcus’ chest, but he had to remain hidden. In order to discover who was plotting against the Crown, it was imperative that he not be found out, and his work here was not done yet.

Marcus’ back ached terribly from his position, but the men had to be wrapping up their meeting soon. He had been watching them from his shrouded hiding spot for an hour, and they were looking increasingly fidgety. One of the men nodded to the others, and the three of them shook hands. Marcus noted the gesture. For the Marquess to shake the men’s hands, it would certainly make sense that the other two would be members of the ton as well. His suspicion had added support; he would have to let his commanding officer know.

When the men had all dispersed, Marcus kept hidden for another ten minutes at least to ensure that they’d made it a safe distance away. When he finally stood, his back cracked, as did his ankles. He brushed back his light brown hair and pulled his overcoat around his shoulders, the collar high around his neck. Marcus turned his head left and right before he pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time. A quarter until midnight. He would have to hurry to make it to the War Office’s secret location, but he would get there on time if he kept his steps quick. A carriage was not employed to take him to where he needed to go.

No, this mission was far too secretive even to entrust the employment of his carriage driver. The War Office always kept their secret rendezvous locations within walking distance of wherever they sent their officers, partly, so they did not need a carriage driver. It also allowed them to hear pistol shots, should their officer be discovered.

Marcus knew that his job was rife with danger, but that only spurred him on further. The more he could prove himself, the more he could do for the Crown, the better he felt. It was more rewarding than unnerving; Marcus always prided himself on his ability to set fear aside when he was on a mission.

Marcus strode down the street quickly and quietly; if there were anyone around him on the empty street, it would be unlikely that they would take notice of him. He knew how to stay in the shadows, and he also could step lively when he wanted to; more often than not, he had to combine those two talents in the name of the Crown.

Marcus rounded a corner in a back alleyway, checking to see if he was completely alone. He let out a sigh of relief; the only thing he could hear was the slosh of the waves and the tinkling of the harbor bell. When footsteps began to sound down the alleyway, he straightened, his hand straying to his pistol.

“Easy there, Steele,” an amused voice said. “I see you’re ready as ever.”

“Just in case, sir,” Marcus said, a smile playing about his lips. “You know I like to be careful.”

“As you should,” the man agreed, stepping into the moonlight. “You are the pride of the War Office’s undercover endeavors for a reason. I suspect that you’ve discovered something tonight?”

Marcus nodded, tapping the case which held his quizzing glasses.

“I have, Auric,” he said. “As we suspected, the Marquess of Halenshire is meeting with unknown men in the dead of night at the docks. I was unable to see the faces of the others, but it’s not out of bounds to believe that he is working with other members of the ton.”

“Good work,” his commanding officer responded. He reached a hand back to scratch at his salt-and-pepper hair, cut short against his scalp. “You’re going to have to keep a close eye on the Marquess; I want to know what he’s up to at all times. The Marquess is a prominent member of the ton, as you know. He’ll likely be attending this year’s London season. I hate to do this to you, Marcus, but…”

“You want me to attend the season as well,” Marcus filled in for him. “If it’s for the good of the Crown, then it must be done. I’m not exactly in the market for a wife, but…”

Auric sighed, his relief apparent in his face. “No, I should think not,” he said. “And the War Office is ever grateful for it. It would be difficult for us to lose someone as thorough at your job as yourself to mundane married life. A wife would surely put an end to your career here. I must thank you for giving me no objection; I thought for certain that you would fight me on the matter. I’m glad to see that I was wrong in that.”

“Truly, I’m left with little choice,” Marcus replied with a wry smile. “You know as well as I that I have little interest in marriage and heirs. Though my mother would be overjoyed, my dedication to the Crown’s security is too important to risk. I hate to disappoint her —”

“You shall just have to act the part,” Auric said pleasantly. “Try to sense who the Marquess is working with through young ladies in their first season. It will be easy to get them to open up, and courting will serve as a proper cover.”

Marcus sighed; the grim smile still had not fled from his lips. He knew from previous missions what his superior was going to suggest and had already accepted it himself. It would not be kind to lead on a young lady, but his duty came before all else. The security of the monarchy and the brotherhood he had found in the War Office’s special operations was enough for him.

Auric patted him on the shoulder and shook his hand heartily, bidding him goodnight.

“Be safe,” Auric said. “And for God’s sake, don’t look so down about your cover on the marriage mart. Perhaps the pleasant company and conversation of a young lady are what you need.” He chuckled to himself as he made his way down the alley and out of sight, leaving Marcus alone.

Marcus brushed his hands down his black coat and stole away into the night. He would meet up with his carriage a little further down the street. He had led the coachman on for years by insinuating that he visited a mistress in the dead of night for a secret rendezvous. Marcus even implied she was a member of the ton who was betrothed to another, and he hid his humor at the shock on the man’s face. No, no one was to know that he was undercover. Not even his mother, much as that pained him.

The Dowager Viscountess Sedgeford pined for grandchildren, for Marcus to have a family. He could tell by the longing he saw on her face each time they encountered children on the street. At one time, she had asked quite frequently about when Marcus would begin searching for a bride. The more the seasons and the years fell away, though, the less hope she held on to the hope in her heart.

Marcus hated to break his mother’s heart, but it had to be done. For the safety of all Great Britain, he would do absolutely anything, even if it meant breaking the hearts of those that he held dear to him.

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