Month: August 2023

Prologue

1812

Lovell Estate

     “I must tell Uncle Albert how splendid peonies would look at my wedding, Edna,” Charlotte Lovell said as she alighted from the carriage in front of Lovell House, the setting sun casting long shadows over the walls.

“And white roses, Miss,” Edna, her lady’s maid, said from behind her.

“Yes!” Grinning, Charlotte hurried up the steps to the front door.

     In three months’ time, at the start of spring, she would be marrying her third cousin, Timothy Lovell. Prior to the engagement, Charlotte had found the notion absurd—for she always wanted to marry someone of her own choosing, someone she truly loved. But things changed quickly after a conversation with her Uncle, the man she had the utmost respect for.

Her Uncle, Albert Lovell, had graced her with an abundance of kindness that surpassed all others since she became orphaned; and so, she could not bring herself to deny his wish. Timothy was a good man, too.

The door swung open before she could knock, and the butler, Hodges, appeared, his expression grim.

The joy that had been blossoming within her withered in an instant, because Charlotte had never seen him without a smile. “Hodges, is something wrong?” she whispered.

His face was ashen, and he would not look at her as he stepped away from the door. When Charlotte walked into the hall, an intense feeling of dread washed over her, and her stomach turned.

“Hodges?” she asked again, her voice wavering slightly.

Hodges’ lips parted, his mouth shaping and reshaping words that refused to form. He blinked rapidly, his eyes misting.

Charlotte’s eyes moved around the hall, her heart racing. The usually lively house now seemed to be filled with a deafening silence, and the tick of the grandfather clock echoed louder with each second.

“Where are my uncle and cousin?” Charlotte asked, taking a step toward the stairs. They had been out of the house when she left to have tea with Diana, but she expected them to return before her as it was almost dinner time.

“Miss, I…” the butler started, but snapped his mouth shut as if it pained him to continue. 

Her chest tightening, she abandoned propriety and picked up her skirts, running up the stairs. She had to know where her uncle was, and what had happened.

The stairs seemed to stretch infinitely, each step she took increasing the pounding of her heart as her fear grew. The hallway on the second floor was quiet, and the heavy blue velvet curtains had been drawn. Her steps quickened, and she made, first, for her uncle’s bedchamber.

She stumbled to a halt when the door of the bedchamber opened suddenly, and a man walked out. Charlotte saw his gray embroidered waistcoat first, but as her eyes ascended, her mouth fell open.

He was the one. The one she wished to marry and dreamed of, the one that gave her the courage to move on to her new life after the passing of her parents. It had been several years since that incident, but his face had remained etched in her memory, for she always wished to see him one more time to thank him for the kindness he showed that day. Although they were only children, alone in those dark woods that night she ran away from home, she could never forget him.

And now, never had Charlotte imagined she would see him in her home, at least not in the way that one typically would. His blue eyes were as sharp as she remembered. However, he stared at her as though he was seeing her for the first time.

He did not remember her.

Charlotte would have been disappointed if the dominant emotion within her was not fear, as she noticed how solemn his demeanor was with the corners of his mouth turned downward.

“Sir,” she managed to stammer, because he was blocking her path, and her heart pounded with a terrible premonition. “Where is my uncle?”

“The correct title would be ‘Your Grace’ or ‘Duke Jeremy’.”

Your Grace? The young boy is now a Duke?

“Miss Lovell, perhaps you should sit.” He gestured at a seat against the wall, and time seemed to slow right then.

What? No! No no! This cannot be happening! Not again!

Before her thoughts could fully converge into coherence, Charlotte surged past him, propelled by a frantic energy. He reached out, his fingers barely brushing her arm in an attempt to halt her, but she was unyielding.

As she burst into the chamber, the sight that met her eyes made her heart freeze. Her beloved uncle, who had always been a beacon of warmth and security, lay still and quiet on the bed.

His face, usually so animated and full of life, was now hidden beneath a stark white cloth.

For a fleeting moment, Charlotte thought him merely asleep. But the silence was wrong, the stillness too profound. Jeremy, who had followed her into the room, moved to stand before her, creating a barricade between Charlotte and the harsh reality.

“Do not venture further, Miss, I implore you,” he said.

“I have to see him,” she whispered, her voice brittle and distant. She raised her eyes to Jeremy’s. “Is he…?” She choked on the rest of the words.

Jeremy looked away and nodded, barely. A strangled cry escaped her lips, and her legs gave way under her. He reached out in time to steady her, his hands surprisingly gentle as they held her shoulders.

Charlotte blinked, her eyes burning with unshed tears, her mind struggling to comprehend. Moments ago, she had been laughing and smiling, anticipating her impending nuptials to her cousin, Timothy, but her entire life was now a forgotten dream, replaced with a nightmare she had yet to comprehend.

She moved mechanically toward her uncle, wishing to say her farewells. However, her path was blocked again, this time by the housekeeper.

“Do not look at him, Miss,” she begged.

The Duke, seemingly understanding Charlotte’s need, guided her out of the room, his touch an odd comfort amid the despair. As she allowed herself to be led away, a thought struck her—a horrifying possibility she had overlooked in her shock.

“Where is Timothy?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “Where is he?”

The deepening shadows in Jeremy’s eyes confirmed her fears. The edges of her vision darkened, and the finality of the situation sunk in. Charlotte had not only lost her uncle, her only guardian, but her betrothed, as well. She felt as though the world was crumbling around her. The sound of her heart pounding filled her ears, and she could no longer stand upright.

Strong arms held her, and then she was carried. Burying her face in Jeremy’s shoulder, she shut her eyes tightly, hoping that when she opened them, she would discover this to be a nightmare.

Jeremy set her down in a chair, and when she opened her eyes, she saw they were in a sitting room. He walked up to a table and poured some liquor into a tumbler before returning to her.

“I cannot see my cousin, too?” she asked as he placed the tumbler in her hand.

Jeremy shook his head. “I promised Lord Lovell that your memories of him and your cousin will remain uncorrupted.”

He squatted in front of her. “I must tell you of your uncle’s last wish, but you should drink first.”

Charlotte swallowed and shook her head. “I have no wish to drink.”

“You should, Miss,” he encouraged, gently taking her wrist and raising the tumbler to her lips. “I fear you will need it.”

Her fingers instinctively tightened around the glass. “Is Uncle’s final wish worse than what I am facing now?”

“Perhaps,” Jeremy replied solemnly.

Charlotte took two large gulps of the liquor, wincing as she did, and several seconds of silence passed between them. When Jeremy did not speak, she sat straighter and said, “Tell me. Surely, nothing can be worse than losing the only family I have.”

“He asked me to marry you,” Jeremy declared impassively, and she blinked at him.

“Are you mocking me, Your Grace?” She shook her head, but Jeremy looked very serious. For the first time, she noticed how disheveled his black hair was and the dark lines under his eyes.

“Your uncle made me promise to marry you,” he repeated clearly.

The words hung in the air, heavy and surreal. Charlotte stared at him, struggling to make sense of his words. “But…why? I have another cousin…Nicholas…Surely Uncle Albert would have asked me to marry him?”

Jeremy nodded, and his voice sounded strained when he spoke. “Mr. Nicholas Lovell is not in England, and he is not likely to return soon. You have to be protected and taken care of, and I swore I would do just that.”

Charlotte felt a lump forming in her throat, her mind spinning. Jeremy continued speaking, “We will marry as soon as possible, but we will live separately for a year, and then the marriage shall be annulled.”

Her eyes widened, and her shock changed, carrying anger with it. “What did you just say?”

“We will have the marriage annulled after a year, Miss Lovell.”

“My uncle would never instruct such a thing!”

“No, the notion of annulment is mine.” The Duke—for she could no longer see him as Jeremy—rose.

“You accepted my uncle’s final request to humiliate me?” Charlotte could not understand how her uncle could skip Nicholas, who was more than eligible, and hand her to this man. She might have once dreamed of marrying Jeremy but he could not even remember her, and he no longer was the cheerful youth who had stolen her thirteen-year-old heart.

“No, Miss Lovell, please do not misinterpret my intentions. Lord Lovell was kind to me, and it is only fair if I repaid him by carrying out his last request.”

“Why an annulment?” Charlotte asked, hating the way her voice sounded small.

The Duke did not respond, and he simply clasped his hands behind him and said, “You will be looked after, and when you are free, you will be a woman of independent means.”

But that is not what I want! Charlotte wanted to yell, but she could not speak. It was too much, too fast. She could hardly breathe. The room felt too small, the walls closing in on her.

Feeling as if she was tumbling down a hill, unable to stop or slow, she shut her eyes.

The trajectory of her life had changed in a very short moment, a promise made was now dictating her future, and she could do nothing but watch, horrified, as her life spiraled out of her control for the second time in her twenty-two years of existence. 

Chapter One

One year later

Jeremy Remming, the seventh Duke of Eldenham, crossed the threshold of Willowbrook Castle in York for the first time after a long year. Despite the months of absence, an uncanny sense of familiarity took hold of him, evidence of the stately castle’s undying charm.

A childhood spent in the stone halls whispered in his ear, memories of laughter, tantrums, and whispered secrets clinging to the high stone walls and vaulted ceilings. The sorrow he had endured here flooded back, as well.

His heart immediately clenched, and images of long dark hair and soft blue eyes flashed through his mind. A peal of laughter rang in his ears. Jeremy shook his head and returned his focus to the foyer.

Upon entering, he was greeted by the sight of the castle’s loyal keepers, the butler, Mr. Mayton, and his wife and housekeeper Mrs. Mayton. Their presence, just as much a part of Willowbrook as its stone and timber, added to the sensation of time standing still.

“Welcome, Your Grace,” Mr. Mayton said with a warmth that belied his age. “It is good to finally have you back.”

Jeremy managed a smile, wishing he was happy to be here. He looked at Mrs. Mayton, and unlike her husband, there was frost in her tone when she spoke. She curtsied, her face tight. “Welcome to Willowbrook, Your Grace.”

Her choice of words did not escape Jeremy’s notice, and he supposed he deserved such treatment from her after his long absence.

“It is a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Mayton,” he murmured.

“We thought we’d never live to see the day you would return, Your Grace,” she confessed, her words hanging in the air like the faint scent of peony in the front hall. She had never been adept at hiding her emotions, and Jeremy could see the discontent in her taut smile.

“Mrs. Mayton,” came the butler’s soft reprimand, their familiarity with one another evident in the understated exchange, and the housekeeper smiled brightly at Jeremy.

He wondered if his wife was the reason for Mrs. Mayton’s reception, for her affection had always been a consistent presence in his life following his mother’s untimely death when he was a mere child of three.

Jeremy looked up at the grand staircase to the landing that parted, leading up to the separate wings of the castle. Every inch of marble held tales of a past innocence, a time when he had been nothing more than a carefree boy darting about the vast hallways. He then looked around the foyer, the echoes of his laughter seeming to rebound off the high ceiling. A pang of sorrow clenched his heart. The boy he once had been was replaced by a man touched by the harsh realities of life and time.

“Shall I prepare some tea for you, Your Grace?” Mrs. Mayton offered.

“Yes, please,” he murmured as his eyes narrowed on the painting hanging above the stairs landing. It was a little too dark for him to see anything, but he remembered that a different portrait of his mother used to hang there. It had been changed.

Jeremy, though greeted with warm nostalgia, found his return to the castle more of a bittersweet affair than a joyful homecoming. His residence here, however temporary it might be, felt like dredging up ghosts from a past he would rather leave untouched.

“Who changed the portrait?” he asked, glancing at Mr. Mayton.

“There was a storm one evening, and the old portrait fell. Her Grace ordered for a different one from the gallery to replace it,” the butler explained.

“Her Grace is quite fond of this portrait,” Mrs. Mayton said. “We all think the late Duchess looks better in this than the former.”

Jeremy’s mind circled back to the pressing matter at hand, the reason for his return. “Where is she?” he asked, his gaze intently on the Maytons. His wife was conspicuously absent, a fact that puzzled him considering he had given ample notice of his arrival.

Mr. and Mrs. Mayton shared a glance, and it was the latter who replied, a hint of caution in her tone. “Oh, I am sure she is in the castle somewhere, Your Grace.”

“Direct her to my study,” he commanded, making his way past the stairs and toward the familiar retreat.

Yet, as he pushed open the heavy wooden door, his brows furrowed at the sight that met him. The room which once radiated an air of scholarly gravity now looked more like a middle-aged matron’s parlor than a Duke’s study. It was as though a whimsical breeze had blown through the room, replacing his somber possessions with an array of needlework wonders.

Handkerchiefs, embroidered with delicate precision, littered one sofa. Shelves overflowed with stuffed dolls, small cushions, and an assortment of porcelain curiosities. The wallpaper, once a dignified brown, had been replaced with a delicate shade of pink, tiny flowers blooming across it. The transformation was so stark, Jeremy wondered if he had walked into the wrong room.

Bewildered, he turned to Mrs. Mayton—who had followed him instead of getting that tea she offered—his eyes wide with shock. “What the devil happened here?”

The housekeeper cleared her throat. “I was going to mention that Her Grace—”

“My wife did this?” Jeremy interrupted, a note of disbelief weaving through his words. The sight of his study—or rather, what used to be his study—filled him with a sense of disbelief so profound he felt rooted to the spot.

“Would it not have been more fitting for the Duchess to have her own study?” he questioned.

“Indeed, Your Grace, but she desired a workroom as well, and—”

“She chose my study to…redecorate.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to compose himself amidst the unexpected transformation. Clearly, his absence had left too wide a gap.

A small voice inside him, a whisper of pain, retorted with, ‘Never long enough to erase your sorrow.’

“Mrs. Mayton,” he began, forcing his tone to remain even, “I require the presence of my wife. Immediately.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” She offered a quick curtsy before bustling off, replaced swiftly by the butler.

However, Mayton was not bearing news of his wife, and with him was Jeremy’s old friend, Samuel Godwin, the Earl of Redmont. Jeremy had not seen him in over a year, not since he brought his wife to live in Willowbrook.

“Eldenham!” Samuel Godwin exclaimed the instant he saw Jeremy, not waiting for the butler to announce him. He walked into the flowery room and clapped him on the shoulder.

“It is great to see you, Redmont,” Jeremy smiled.

He had sent word about his arrival to Samuel because he wanted to know how the businesses he had left in his care were doing. They had been friends all their lives, and Samuel took care of their joint ventures in York while Jeremy lived in London—where he belonged.

“My word, have you turned to the teashop trade?” Samuel quipped as he sat, scanning the room with a look of bemused confusion. “I was under the impression that this was your study.”

“It is,” Jeremy responded tersely, sitting in the chair opposite Samuel’s and picking up the handkerchief that rested on the arm, tossing it to the pile on the sofa. “Or rather, it was.”

“A feeling of mutual bafflement engulfs us, my friend,” Samuel chuckled, his eyes still roving over the riot of needlework.

“Perhaps my wife found herself with time to spare,” Jeremy mused aloud. If the Duchess had indeed crafted all these items, her time had certainly been well-occupied.

“Your absence spanned an entire year, Eldenham,” Samuel reminded him, a smirk playing on his lips. “Plenty of time for things to change.”

“Quite homely, I daresay,” Samuel offered, with a nonchalant shrug.

“Homely?” Jeremy echoed, an eyebrow raised. “All I can see is…peony?” He sniffed at the sweet aroma pervading the air.

“I am not a botanist, nor do I see a peony,” Samuel retorted with a laugh.

“No, that is in the air,” Jeremy said, realizing that the scent had filled his nose since he first stepped into the castle.

“York has been very quiet without you, Eldenham,” Samuel said, his tone and demeanor serious.

“The sentiment is not mutual, I fear,” Jeremy replied wryly.

“Piercing words,” Samuel chuckled before Jeremy switched the conversation to matters more pressing.

“How is everything?”

His friend ran a hand down his jaw and sighed, shaking his head. “I have wronged you. Forgive me, dear friend.”

“What happened?”

“The last harvest was a loss, the livestock perished from an illness, and the tenants are quite restless.”

Jeremy tensed upon hearing that. “I beg your pardon?” His friend was about to repeat himself, but Jeremy held up a hand. “Why am I only hearing of this now?” he demanded, his annoyance hardly concealed. He had entrusted his friend to keep a watchful eye on their ventures.

“I had hoped to contain the issues when they arose,” Samuel admitted, the corners of his mouth turned down in regret. “But matters slipped out of my control. I had meant to discuss it with you in person, a matter too grave for mere letters. Your return saved me the trip.”

“Such information should not have been delayed,” Jeremy returned irritably, rising and striding toward what had once been his large mahogany desk, now draped with a frilly white cloth. Lifting the cloth, he pulled open a drawer, expecting the reassuring sight of familiar ledgers and account books. Instead, a medley of bright thread spools and thimbles in various sizes met his eyes, a blatant mockery of his once orderly study.

An irked sigh whistled past his clenched teeth, frustration making his chest tighten.

“Eldenham, I am well aware of the profound aversion you harbor toward this place,” Samuel replied, his voice dolorous. “My intention was to manage matters and spare you the journey and a reminder of the past. An apology might seem hollow now, but I offer it sincerely.”

His friend’s words brought Jeremy’s fumbling hands to an abrupt halt. Samuel’s loyalty had been unswerving, a beacon in the darkest storms of his life. He was thankful for his friend’s protective instincts, but his properties and business ventures held priority. This estate might only be a fragment of his wealth, but Jeremy was not one to relinquish it, unchecked. Personal demons had their place, but business demanded a separate attention.

Pulling himself upright, he gathered his thoughts, “I had intended to journey back to London tomorrow, but I find it necessary to extend my stay for a further two days,” he declared, straightening his shoulders. “We shall assess the extent of the damage and find solutions accordingly,” he added, his mind already whirling with plans. Two days were enough for him to address the troubles, he convinced himself.

Yet, a quiet promise resonated within him. No more than that. Any longer would be too great a concession to his tormenting past.

Chapter Two

Charlotte handed Edna the last chrysanthemum bloom and sighed, looking around the dull greenhouse, her throat tight. She loved this place, and she had grown her favorite flowers here since she made Willowbrook her home.

Her Lady’s maid gently touched her shoulder. “Do not worry, Your Grace, spring shall be here soon with new blooms.”

Charlotte gave her a wintry smile. Her poor companion thought she was sad because she had just cut the last blooms in the greenhouse, but Charlotte knew what she did not. This was her second winter in Willowbrook, but it would also be her last.

“Yes, Edna,” she murmured. “We should return to the castle.” She rubbed her gloved hands together and pulled her cloak tighter as Edna placed the flower in the basket. “I would love some tea.”

Stepping out of the greenhouse, Charlotte’s boots sank into the freshly fallen snow, causing a slight chill to rush up her leg. She lifted the hem of her dress just high enough to shield the delicate fabric from the dampness below, and Edna gave her an appreciative smile.

After all, she would be the one to rescue the dress from ruin should it be sullied.

As they moved along the path that led back to the castle, Charlotte’s gaze wandered across the vast field, past the leafless trees, resting on the austere, yet compelling structure in the distance. A sense of longing tugged at her heart, pulling the corners of her mouth into a wistful smile.

The dark stone of Willowbrook contrasted against the soft blanket of white that stretched out before it, captivating. The vines covering the walls presented an enchanting tableau that was almost otherworldly.

It was in moments such as this that Charlotte was reminded of the ever-changing face of the castle, beautiful in every season. She allowed her gaze to linger a little longer, finding comfort in the familiarity of the scene before running the rest of the way to get out of the cold. They let themselves into the castle through the front.

As soon as she stepped in, she noticed that Mr. Mayton was wearing a rather peculiar expression. Her lips parted to question him, but an unusually flustered Mrs. Mayton appeared before Charlotte could say a word.

“Your Grace, I had not been informed of your gardening exploits today,” the housekeeper chastised gently, glancing behind her.

“Oh, I found myself at the mercy of spontaneity, Mrs. Mayton,” Charlotte chuckled. Mrs. Mayton’s hands found their way to her ample hips, adopting a posture that indicated maternal exasperation.

Since her ill-fated union to the Duke of Eldenham and his subsequent relocation of her to an isolated castle, Charlotte had developed a fond familiarity with Mr. and Mrs. Mayton.

Following the untimely deaths of her parents, Charlotte had been taken under the protective wing of her uncle, Baron Albert Lovell. He had acted as her guardian until he was lost in a tragic accident. This, compounded by the death of her betrothed, Timothy, in the same carriage crash, had left Charlotte bereft and numb. With the familial bonds of her childhood cruelly severed, she had found herself adrift in a sea of grief.

Her transition to Willowbrook after her wedding had been a daunting phase in her life, but Edna, her dearest friend Diana, and the Maytons had given her solace and companionship, especially in her lonely days.

“This morning seemed too splendid to be squandered indoors,” Charlotte said, pointing at the basket filled with colorful blossoms.

“These would bring much life and color to your chambers,” Mrs. Mayton observed as she appreciated the white and peach chrysanthemums.

“I intend them for the workroom, actually,” Charlotte said, removing her cloak and handing it to Edna before starting up the stairs.

The housekeeper’s features shifted then, a subtle tightening of her mouth and a creasing of her blonde eyebrows. “His Grace has arrived.”

Confusion drew Charlotte’s brows together, “Who?”

“The Duke,” Mrs. Mayton clarified, her voice dipping slightly.

“Today?” Charlotte halted in her tracks, her body tensing. The Duke’s impending visit had slipped from her mind entirely even though she had been counting the days she had left in Willowbrook.

A year’s worth of bitterness that resided in the recesses of Charlotte’s heart rose, stinging like a fresh wound. She had endeavored not to think of the Duke, especially after he had made it unmistakably clear to her that she was nothing more than a wife in name, a contractual obligation he intended to fulfill and then promptly discard.

He had left her, lost in the depths of her grief, with the promise to return in a year’s time and liberate her from the unwanted shackles of their matrimony with an annulment. Charlotte’s hands clutched her dark blue skirt, and her teeth clenched.

Why was his arrival bringing up so many memories and unsavory emotions?

“You will live here until next winter,” Eldenham had said upon their arrival at Willowbrook. They had married a week after her uncle and cousin’s deaths in London, then traveled to York.

“Where will you be?” Charlotte asked, clutching the string of her reticule and standing rigidly in the drawing room.

“In London,” he replied impassively, leading Charlotte to conclude that she was an unwelcome encumbrance and a lingering responsibility left to him by her uncle.

She shook her head to dismiss the memory, taking a deep breath. She had adapted despite everything, and what weighed heavily upon her heart was not the annulment of their marriage—for it meant nothing to her—but the thought of leaving a familiar place; one she had slowly turned into her own.

“Yes, His Grace is within the castle walls,” Mrs. Mayton confirmed, pulling Charlotte from her musings. Then the housekeeper’s mouth opened and closed as though she had something more to say.

Whatever words she had intended to share seemed to retreat, leaving her lips pressed into a firm line. Her usual joviality was replaced with a mask of grim concern, the wrinkles on her face seeming more pronounced than ever.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Mayton?” Charlotte asked.

“Not at all, Your Grace.”

Charlotte decided not to pursue the subject, and as she glanced at the basket in Edna’s grip, she found herself agreeing with Mrs. Mayton’s initial suggestion about the disposition of the flowers. “You are right, Mrs. Mayton. These flowers would indeed look far more captivating in my chambers.”

Avoiding the Duke was an enticing notion, and she would grasp at any reasonable excuse to delay their inevitable meeting.

“Should I arrange for some vases to be sent to your room, Your Grace?” Mrs. Mayton asked.

“Your thoughtfulness is much appreciated, Mrs. Mayton. I would be grateful for the vases,” Charlotte responded, an uneasy smile curving her lips as she spun on her heel, hurrying up the stairs.

Her heart beat faster as she walked down the hallway to her chambers, and she stopped in front of her door, pressing a hand against her belly where an uncontrollable flutter resided.

“No,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head. “I cannot see him now.”

Opening her door, she stepped into the sitting room adjoining her bedchamber. She walked to a chair and lowered herself onto it, but she rose quickly, her restlessness growing. Charlotte paced the room, her eyes on the intricate patterns of the Persian rug that decorated the floor. Her mind was a torrent, swirling with an onslaught of questions that demanded her attention.

One, however, was bold enough to force its presence, looming over the rest.

What was to become of her once the annulment was complete?

Eldenham had assured her that her well-being would not be compromised. She would want for naught, he had promised with an uncharacteristic gentleness. Yet these soothing words had done little to placate the growing apprehension that gnawed at her composure.

The sudden knock at her door punctuated her contemplation, and she stopped pacing. Relief washed over her as she hastened toward the door, eager to divert her thoughts.

It must be the vases that Mrs. Mayton had promised, she thought as she opened the door.

Then her breath caught.

Instead of the anticipated vases and the housekeeper, Charlotte found herself looking into eyes as blue as glaciers on a face so handsome it was unfair. She took a tiny step back, swallowing.

He was as she remembered him, intense and towering over her, his jaw set with authority. Her insides fluttered, and she remembered the first time she beheld him; his eyes had gleamed with joy, his voice had been soft, and his words sincere.

There was no trace of that man now, only the brooding shadow that had taken over his form. Eldenham raised one dark eyebrow and tilted his head. He was about to speak when panic gripped Charlotte, and she swung the door shut, eager to erase the unanticipated image before her.

A grunt followed a hand jutting out to halt the closing door, and the realization of what had occurred hit her like a wave. In her haste, she had slammed the door against the Duke’s hand. 

Lookout for the new release on Amazon on the 26th of August!

Chapter One

1817

London, England

“Goodness, she’ll shatter all the glasses singing that note,” Julia whispered to her sister, leaning back as far as she could in the opera chair. She felt assaulted by the opera singer’s loud note, the tone buffeting her like a strong wind.

“I know what you mean,” Catherine murmured, managing the smallest of smiles.

At last! A smile.

For the last few days, it had been Julia’s mission to see her younger sister smile again. So much had changed this last month and they had big plans, a way to escape their current predicament, but Catherine’s fears had made her morose indeed. Smiles were few and far between.

Reaching for Catherine’s hand, Julia took it in her own and held it tightly. Her sister’s smile faded a little. Catherine’s face was not dissimilar to Julia’s own. They both had the same high cheekbones, but their eyes were incredibly different. Where Julia’s were bold and green, Catherine’s were the brightest of blues, like drops from a blue sky.

“Worry not,” Julia whispered even more quietly in her sister’s ear. “A few weeks more, and we’ll be free. I promise.”

“I know.” Catherine’s grasp tightened. She shifted in her seat, stretching out her stomach a little, then sitting still once again.

Julia’s eyes flicked down to Catherine’s stomach, knowing now the life that she had to protect as well as Catherine’s own. Catherine was with child. No other but Julia and the father knew of it in this world, and with the father cleanly washing his hands of the situation, it was down to Julia to save her sister.

I will not have her put out on the street by our uncle and aunt, to have her child alone. No. I will do anything to avoid that!

Julia turned her focus to her aunt and uncle beside them on the balcony. Aunt Nancy, sister to their late mother, was watching the crowds in the stalls through opera glasses, her pearlescent white gloves shining around the glasses she clung so tightly to.

“The opera is that way, Aunt,” Julia whispered to her, pointing to the stage. On Nancy’s other side was their uncle, Albert, who in contrast was absorbed in watching the opera, even humming the aria beneath his breath for he knew it so well.

“Do not be witty, dear. It does not suit you,” Nancy said sharply, not even bothering to lower the opera glasses. “I am looking at who is here tonight. We must find a husband for you sometime soon, Julia, despite your evident reticence to hurry down the aisle.”

“We’ve had this conversation before–”

“Shh!” Albert hushed them sharply, cutting Julia off.

She forced an innocent smile and looked at the stage again, her hand still tightly locked in her sister’s. Despite her aunt’s wish to marry her off, seemingly to someone of high stature and wealth, that was not part of Julia’s present plans.

In a few weeks’ time, she would be one-and-twenty and would come of age to inherit the money that had been left to her after their father died.

Dear Papa.

An image flitted across her mind of their father. He had been a good man, tall and strong, and always put the happiness of his daughters before his own. He died before his time, falling sick with the white plague. That was the saddest day of Julia’s life, matched only by the day she had to come and live with her uncle and aunt.

“Be practical, dear,” Nancy murmured, leaning toward her. Nancy’s dark auburn hair tickled Julia’s cheek and she leaned away, moving closer to her sister who bit her lip in an effort not to laugh at Julia’s grimace. “You must marry soon. You are to be one-and-twenty soon.”

“I realize that.”

Yet Julia had other plans for her inheritance, and it was certainly not for it to be a dowry. She planned to take that wealth and escape with Catherine. They would flee London, set up somewhere in the countryside, maybe even in Dorset near their father’s old country seat. At least there, Catherine could have her child in peace, far away from the disapproving eyes of the ton.

If we remain in London, her name will be written in the scandal sheets daily. I will not let that happen.

“Ah, there is Lord William Rutledge. Look, look,” Nancy said, lowering the opera glasses enough to use them to wave at someone in the stalls. “Even you, Julia, could not object to such a handsome face.”

“Handsomeness is not enough to induce one to marry, Aunt.”

“You’re cold of heart, Julia,” Nancy said snidely.

Far from it.

Julia kept her thoughts to herself and leaned forward, looking at the gentleman that her aunt was so eagerly pointing out. Lord Rutledge was indeed sitting in the stalls. He was tall, handsome with a narrow face and a strong jawline. His hair was golden, just visible in the candlelight from the stage.

“Oh.” Catherine’s gasp at her side earned Julia’s attention. When Catherine saw she was being watched, she sat back in her chair, pretending she hadn’t been gawking at Lord Rutledge too. A deep blush colored Catherine’s cheek, though Julia decided not to comment on it.

She knew that Catherine was hardly loose of morals. The situation she now found herself in was because of the gentleman she had been courting. He’d persuaded her he was in love with her, promised to ask permission from their uncle to marry her, then flitted off into the night like an owl, darting between the trees.

“Worry not,” Julia whispered to her sister again. “Any woman would have to be made of stone not to find Lord Rutledge handsome.”

“We should see you betrothed by our upcoming ball, Julia,” Nancy said, lifting her opera glasses again. When Albert looked at her, clearly demanding quietness, Nancy lowered her voice further, leaning toward Julia. “We have saved up so much money for this ball, it is imperative that everything goes according to plan. Everything is set for the end of the season. Imagine if we could announce your betrothal that same night.”

“No thank you, Aunt,” Julia said sharply, forcing another polite smile. Nancy huffed and looked away.

“Are they ever able to be quiet?” another voice asked on the balcony.

Julia leaned forward to see that her cousin had crept in on their uncle’s other side. Julia caught sight of her sister’s expression and the widened eyes, as if to silently ask, when did he get here? Julia merely shrugged in answer.

“Apparently never,” Albert grumbled and gestured to the stage. “Please, everyone. Let us hear the final aria before the interval.”

Julia could see, despite her cousin’s words, he had little love for the opera. Percy Finch preferred the gaming hells or the gentlemen’s clubs to anything like the opera, and he was more likely to be seen at music halls if he was in the mood for a song, but he was also good at putting on a front for his father.

He tipped his head back and admired the aria at the right moments, his dark hair slicked back like wax on his head, but there was little meaning in his words. When the curtain came down for the interval, as expected, he was the first on his feet.

“I need a drink. I’ll be back soon,” Percy promised his mother and father.

“Come, Catherine. Let’s find a drink too,” Julia said to her sister, and took her hand, leading her out.

“Julia.” Nancy stood, ready to intercept her. “There are certain suitors I was hoping to introduce you to.”

“Not tonight, Aunt. Everyone is here to see the opera after all. Seeing me instead would be quite a disappointment, I am sure.” She forced yet another smile and pulled Catherine away before her aunt could object again.

They squeezed past the crowds in the theater that had all stood to stretch their legs and hurried into the rabbit-warren-like corridors behind the stalls.

“This is hopeless,” Catherine whispered once they were secured at a bar with glasses of wine clutched in their hands.

“What is?” Julia asked, leading Catherine into the shadows of the barroom, so they could talk freely.

“I know our plan, Julia, but you have seen the way our aunt looks at you. She expects you to marry. I do not imagine she would let you escape London very easily.”

“What Aunt Nancy intends is far from my mind,” Julia shook her head. “Catherine, remember the promise I made you?”

Catherine’s head tilted down a little.

“I remember,” she murmured. “You were so good to me that night, the night you…” She trailed off.

The night I discovered the truth.

Catherine had been ill all that day and a physician had been sent for, yet she had turned him away, refusing to be seen. That was Julia’s first suspicion that her sister knew exactly what was wrong with her. When Catherine explained that she hadn’t yet had her monthly bleeding, all fell into place.

That scoundrel made my sister with child and fled as quickly as he could. That snake!

Julia had already decided that if she ever saw Catherine’s suitor again, she would not be held responsible for her actions.

“I promised you that no one would hurt you again and nothing would stop our plan,” Julia assured her sister. “Even with our aunt’s interfering and insistent ways, it does not matter. Nothing will stop us from taking that inheritance and running as far as we can with it. There is nothing to fear. I promise you that.”

Catherine smiled fully for the first time that evening.

“I should visit the privy before we have to return to our seats,” Catherine said as she put down her glass on a nearby ledge.

“Here, I’ll come with you.” Julia led Catherine from the barroom, though her eyes shot to her cousin at the bar.

Percy seemed to be leaning over his drink rather fervently, his attention fixed on the whisky glass in his clutches. There was sweat on his brow too.

Perhaps he is unwell.

She hesitated by his back.

“Is all well, cousin?” she asked.

“Fine.” He answered sharply, shocking her. Percy may not have been the most virtuous of sorts, but he had always been kinder to Julia than his parents had been. “Leave me be, Julia.” He flicked at the barman to serve him another whisky.

Julia continued through the room, pulling Catherine with her, though she glanced back at Percy more than once as he knocked back the whisky. Something was plainly wrong.

After she had visited the privy, she waited outside in a quiet corridor for Catherine to return, though her sister evidently needed a little longer. The bell to signal the next act began and Julia was quickly left alone and isolated in the corridor. All was silent, until a murmuring began down the other end of the hall.

The words were indistinct at first, a mere discussion, then they grew in sharpness and venom, with two parties clearly falling into a fast argument.

“You have to be reasonable.”

That was Percy’s voice!

Julia hastened down the corridor, pulling at the pastel blue gown she wore to aid her movements. She rounded a corner and appeared in a darker corridor still, where two gentlemen were standing together.

The first was Percy. He was wild, his arms flailing, his cheeks bright red. The other gentleman was a man Julia had only ever seen at a distance at grand balls and assemblies.

His Grace, Antony Sinclair, the Duke of Ravensworth.

“Be reasonable?” the Duke spluttered, his eyebrows shooting up. “I am not the one who made a wager they had no intention of seeing through. A wager is a gentleman’s word. If you do not intend to keep to it, then do not come to the clubs you so frequently visit.”

“Come off it, Your Grace.” Percy turned in a sharp circle, digging his hands in his waxed dark hair and pulling at the tendrils until it was as messy as a bird’s nest. “You know my situation. I explained it all to you.”

“Then you should be wise enough to know by now not to wager when you cannot afford to do so.” The Duke waved a hand, dismissing Percy as if he was a dog at his heels.

“Your Grace?”

“Enough.” The Duke’s deep voice turned sharper still.

Julia fidgeted, her gloved hands shifting together as she stared at the Duke. That deep tone, the huskiness of his voice was something that was certainly attractive.

No wonder he is such a notorious rake.

She’d heard it often enough whispered between ladies of the ton and read his name in the scandal sheets too. The Duke of Ravensworth was no pillar of society or angel fallen from the clouds above. He was as likely to cause trouble for ladies as the streets of London were to see rain this winter.

Julia’s eyes narrowed on the Duke, watching as he waved Percy away once again. After what had happened to Catherine, Julia had no empathy at all for a man like the Duke.

Percy huffed, pleaded another time, then relented and backed up down the corridor, coming increasingly close to Julia. When he saw her, he flinched, but then walked on.

“Percy–”

“Do not say anything,” he warned, waving a sharp hand in the air. “This is not the time.” He walked past her, brushing by her shoulder and hastening down the corridor in the direction of the balcony.

Julia turned back to face the Duke. He wandered halfway down the corridor, rubbing his hands together until he saw Julia and stalled.

In the dim candlelight, their eyes met.

God’s wounds.

This close, Julia could see clearly what she had ignored before when seeing him at a distance. Tall with broad shoulders, he was a dominating and formidable figure. His face was unusually sharp and angular, but it suited him well, the chiseled jaw as if it had been carved like one of those Grecian stone statues she had seen in museums. His brown hair was slightly longer than many other gentlemen’s of the ton, hanging loose around his ears. The clothes were a deep rich black, so dark, that it made her realize she didn’t think she’d ever seen him in anything other than black.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” He bowed his head, intending to walk around her, though she noted his eyes struggled to leave hers so quickly. He stared at her, for a beat too long.

When he reached her shoulder, her anger piqued, though whether it was because of Catherine’s predicament or the Duke of Ravensworth’s argument with her cousin, she wasn’t sure.

“You seek to upset gentlemen in back corridors of opera houses then?” she asked, her tone sharp.

He halted at once, turning to look at her. A slow smirk appeared on his lips.

“This is not your business, ma’am.”

“He is my cousin,” Julia explained, nodding her head down the corridor in the direction of where Percy had retreated.

“Truly?” His eyebrows shot up. “Then I feel God should apologize to you for what he has done. Any lady related to him is unfortunate indeed.”

“You do not know him, Your Grace.” She stood taller, irked at the way his eyes were now wandering down her. It was a voracious gaze, one that suggested he liked what he saw.

I am no wilting flower. I will not be subdued or ensnared by such a look as that.

“Ah, ‘Your Grace?’. Clearly, you know me then, but I do not know you. What is your name?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I do not intend to tell you that.” Julia heard a door closing down the corridor. Fearing being seen alone with such a rake as the Duke, she stepped away, eager to retreat.

“Without your name, how am I to remember this… interesting meeting?” he said. She stopped a few steps later and turned back to face him.

“Remember it as a meeting with one of the few ladies in the ton who has no intention of falling for your charms, Your Grace.” Her defiant words made that smirk grow a little more on his lips.

He’s insufferably handsome. How annoying!

“Pray, do not go near my cousin again.” She turned on her heel, ready to escape.

“You think I am the one who approached him tonight?” The Duke’s words made her halt again. He chuckled deeply and walked slowly forward, reaching her side. “Our argument was not of my making, but his own. He should be better with money if he does not wish to end up beholden to men like me.”

“Money?” Julia’s stomach knotted.

Just the other day she had overheard an argument between Percy and Albert. Her uncle had a habit of making his opinions known and many shook in their boots when he grew angry. Percy was no different. Albert’s shouting voice had echoed through the house, saying he did not intend to give Percy any more money to gamble away.

“He’s lost money to you? How much?” Julia asked with sudden panic, stepping toward the Duke.

“Ah, suddenly my company is bearable to you, ma’am.” He folded his arms and looked down at her, making her realize how close she had moved toward him.

What is wrong with me?

She backed up.

“Barely bearable,” she said between gritted teeth.

“Then if you want an explanation as to what your cousin has done with his money, ask him.” The Duke loosened his arms and stepped back. His gaze shot down her again, it was almost… hungry. Then he looked up and Julia rather thought she had imagined it entirely. “I will not be blamed for your cousin’s errors. I have my own faults.”

He walked away down the corridor, leaving Julia staring after him. She exhaled sharply, realizing just how bated her breath had been in the Duke’s company. After he’d gone, she laid a hand on the nearest wall, using it to help herself stand straight.

What on earth has Percy done now?

Chapter Two

“Percy? Percy!” Julia hissed his name as she traipsed through the corridors, hunting him down. She’d poked her head beyond the curtain that bordered the balcony, far enough to see he hadn’t returned to watch the performance after all but had skulked off somewhere else.

Where are you?

At last, she caught sight of him. His figure was half cast in shadow at the end of a corridor, bordered with a sign that read, Opera Cast Only. Percy casually leaned against the nearest door frame, with one of his charming smiles in place. Standing beside him was one of the younger opera singers, plastered in heavy makeup with her long blonde hair curling down her back.

“Percy?” Julia approached him hurriedly, holding up the corner of her skirt to avoid tripping at her fast pace.

“Not now, Julia.” He cast her a weary glance, his green eyes a similar shade to her own.

“We have to talk.”

When he showed no sign of leaving the opera singer behind, who was smiling at him in an overly sweet manner and running her hand up and down her arm, Julia lost her patience. She turned a sardonic smile to the young lady.

“Did he mention he has no money? Despite his fine clothes,” Julia’s whispered words captured the young woman’s attention. Her hand immediately left Percy’s arm.

“Excuse me, I must return to the performance,” she said with a thick Italian accent and slipped through the door.

“Julia!” Percy flung himself around to face her, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Well, you didn’t actually think she was interested in courting you, Percy, did you?” she said in a hasty whisper. “Many women here offer themselves as mistresses so they can be kept in nice houses–”

“I know, I know.” Percy held up his hands in surrender, cutting her off. “Didn’t mean a few minutes in her company wouldn’t have been nice. Looks like I’ll have to satisfy myself with the club tonight instead.” He tried to walk past her, but Julia caught his arm.

“I just spoke to the Duke of Ravensworth,” she muttered in a whisper. The light from the nearest candle fell on Percy’s features, tinging his skin in a burnt orange hue. In that light, she could see his features contorted.

“What did he say?” he asked tartly.

“He insinuated you had lost more money to him. Percy, tell me it is not true. The whole house heard Uncle Albert reprimanding you and cutting you off the other day.” Her words made him shrug her off. Flustered, he stepped away, pushing a hand into his hair. “Please, Percy, tell me you have not been so foolish as to put yourself in debt to a man who is a Duke.”

“I had the money. I paid him.” Percy shrugged as if it was no great matter.

“You did?” She shifted her weight between her feet, unable to contain her shock. “What money is that?”

“What money do you think?” He must have been in his cups, for he swayed a little on his feet, a small smile curling his lips.

“Your father’s? He keeps a tight hold on his money. Trust me, I know. So do not lie about that. Where did you get the money, Percy?” She caught his arm when he tried to walk past her again. “I am trying to help you here. Tell me just how much trouble you are in.”

“Not much you can do now,” he huffed, shaking his head. He laughed just once, though the sound dulled fast. “I already took what help you could have ever given me,” he muttered, the words barely audible at all.

So stunned, Julia released him, baffled by the words.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice stuttering in the middle. He looked at her, raising a single eyebrow.

“Well, you had money, did you not, Julia?”

“I have no money. Not yet, not for another few weeks…” She trailed off, feeling as if she had been kicked in the gut. She rubbed her stomach, her glare fixing on her cousin. “Tell me you did not break the trust and take my inheritance. Tell me!”

“Fine. Then I shall stay silent.” He spun on his heel and turned away. He staggered to the side, revealing he was indeed in his cups.

“Percy!” She raced after him, cutting him off partway down the corridor and standing in front of him. “You did not take that money. No, you couldn’t have. Why would you do that?”

“I thought I was onto a winner. A winning streak, at last. It was all I needed to keep me going for another few months,” he said hurriedly, boasting with a smile. It showed how drunk he was, to be boasting and telling her such things so openly when he scarcely revealed his personal life to his father, let alone her. “I wagered it to the Duke of Ravensworth, because I was certain I was going to win.”

“How much—when did it happen—is there anything…” The words escaped her lips rushedly, jumbling together in their haste. “You lost it? All of it?”

He hurried to put a hand in his pocket, then pulled out a single coin. He dropped it in the air, and she hastened to catch it. A gleaming silver shilling rested in the palm of her hand.

“This is all that is left?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I asked for it back. That’s what you saw just now.” He waved a hand down the corridor. “The Duke did not agree with me. Well, it is what it is. The money’s gone.” He shrugged and walked around her once more.

No, no, no!

Julia could barely organize her thoughts. All at once, her plans were crumbling around her. There was no money to rescue Catherine and take her far away from here, nothing to help care for the unborn child beyond a single shilling.

“How could you do this? You… monster,” she muttered, turning around to face the retreating back of her cousin. At once, she saw him in a new light.

He was no longer a misguided overgrown child, immature, but ultimately goodhearted. Far from it. He’d revealed himself to be cruel and uncaring.

“Your father will hear of this,” she said with sudden fervor. “Do not mistake me, Percy. I will tell Uncle Albert as soon as I return to that balcony.”

Percy froze. As still as a statue, he did not move for a full ten seconds before he turned back to face her. Standing between the candles, his expression was no longer lit with candlelight, but cast fully into shadow. It made the sneer of his lip seem all the dark still, more angular than before.

Slowly, he walked toward her, stalking her, like a hunter after its prey. She held her ground and jerked her chin high.

There must be a way out of this. There must be! For Catherine’s sake. Maybe Uncle Albert will make up the money?

Even as the thought struck her, she knew it was mad. Albert was a proud man and demanded certain standards. He did not throw away money lightly.

“You tell my secret, and I’ll tell yours,” Percy whispered, that sneer now fully visible in the candlelight.

“What secret?” She pretended innocence.

Surely, he has no way of knowing about Catherine…

“That maid who has been hiding Catherine’s sheets, do you think she has not been keeping my bed warm for a while now?” Percy asked, that smirk growing across his lips.

Julia dropped the shilling to the floorboards, hearing it ring as it rolled away.

“Yes, I know,” he said, his voice hardening further. “Catherine’s with child, is she not?”

“Percy, you would not tell Uncle Albert –”

“I would not.” He shook his head. “As long as you keep my secret too. Seems we are in cahoots now, Julia. My lips stay shut, as long as yours do. Now, shall we return to the opera? Knowing my father, he will be most upset that we missed it.” He stepped to the side and gestured for her to walk down the corridor before him.

Julia took the first shaky step, then hurried away. By the time they reached the balcony and took their seats, her whole body was trembling, though she wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or anger.

If Albert discovered Catherine was with child, she would surely be thrown out of the family home. Julia could not let that happen, but neither could she allow Percy to get away with what he had done. Either way, Catherine’s life was doomed. There was no future, no money for her and the child.

…What am I to do now?

Chapter Three

1817

Sinclair Manor, London

“Perhaps a tea, Your Grace? Maybe some water?” The butler stepped forward and offered a hand to steady Antony.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” Antony shrugged on his frock coat and tugged at the sleeves.

“You do look quite pale, Your Grace.”

Antony smiled as he looked at the face of his butler. The old man had a round face, heavy and drooping eyes like a basset hound, and dark eyebrows. A kindly man indeed, he’d shown more affection to Antony than many others in his life.

“You’re always good to me, Grayson,” he said softly. “Thank you, I’m fine. I just have a headache after the drinking last night.”

“I feared as much.”

Antony strode into his study, checking he had everything he needed. He took out some bank notes from the top drawer of his desk and caught sight of the very thing he tried to avoid looking at most days.

It was a letter, curled now with age, and the paper had started to yellow. Across the front was Antony’s name and address. It remained unopened, even after all this time.

I cannot read her letter. I can’t.

“I won’t,” he murmured under his breath.

“Your Grace?” Grayson called from the doorway where he had remained behind. “All’s well?”

“Yes, that headache is bothering me. That is all.” Antony closed the drawer hurriedly and thrust the banknotes into the pocket of his frock coat. “I shall be better when I am at the club.”

“I remember a time when you didn’t bother with the club or the gambling,” Grayson said with a soft chuckle. “It seems like some time ago now.”

“That’s because it was. We all grow up, Grayson.” Antony smiled and left the room, taking the top hat his butler offered him.

“Or we all just change.” Grayson’s smile turned rather melancholic. “Though I wish you smiled as much as you used to, Your Grace.”

Antony paused, startled by the sympathetic words. He fidgeted with the top hat in his grasp, then shook his head.

“Smiles aren’t what they used to be. Now, I must get to the club.”

“Yes, of course. The carriage awaits you outside.” Dutifully, Grayson opened the door and waved Antony out of the house. They shared a last smile as Antony pulled on his top hat, then Antony reached for the carriage and stepped inside, the darkness enshrouding him.

Don’t think about it. Do not think about it!

Despite his endeavors, Antony couldn’t help dwelling on Grayson’s words as the carriage jolted from side to side and took him all the way into Soho, right into the depths of London. Here, a gentleman could lose himself in the gambling dens and clubhouses, some darker and more secret than others, with coded knocks on doors which could gain his entry.

Grayson was right. Many years ago, Antony had smiled more. He’d not been one for gambling or the clubs, but that was before he’d made the vow to ruin his father’s name and reputation. He wasn’t going to let the Dukedom of Ravensworth be lauded as it had been for generations, not after his father’s actions.

Everything had changed that day.

Since then, Antony ensured his name was in the scandal sheets most days. If he was not being called notorious for his rakish ways with women, then they wrote of his gambling and his frequent appearances at such dens of inequity.

“It is for the best,” Antony muttered as he stepped out of the carriage, deciding to leave his top hat behind on the carriage bench. Where he was going, he did not need to look like any fine gentleman.

Stepping down a narrow flight of steps, he hurried to the door of a club and knocked four times in a row, the fourth knock extremely slow compared to the first three. At once, the door opened and he was admitted by a familiar face who took his frock coat.

“We have your usual table set up, Your Grace. Gentlemen are lining up now to play you.”

“Thank you, Jeremiah.” Antony nodded his head in thanks and crossed the club.

Great swathes of red curtains hung from the walls and ceilings, separating the space into different rooms. Behind some, men played blackjack, and behind another, the melodic tones of courtesans drifted. Antony ignored such curtains and made his way toward the one behind which his poker table sat.

He hurried to take his seat as around him, three other gentlemen sat down, two of them very familiar indeed. The first was Lord Rutledge.

Antony stiffened in his seat as his eyes turned on the man he had once called a friend. Lord William Rutledge was a man of decorum and principles.

“Not often do I find you in a place like this, Willia—Lord Rutledge,” Antony said with a deep chuckle as Jeremiah appeared and placed a large glass of brandy down in front of him. To Antony’s surprise, he served up the same for Lord Rutledge

“We all need our outlets,” he said under his breath, his dark blue eyes hardening as he looked at Antony. “From what I hear, you clean up at these tables.

“I always do,” Antony said with confidence.

“Time that changed then, is it not?” He took the pack of cards Antony had been shuffling with and cut them. “Just making sure you’re not going to pull a trick on us.”

“No tricks. There would be no fun in winning then,” Antony laughed, though Lord Rutledge didn’t join in.

Where Antony mostly got respect in places like this, Lord Rutledge’s disrespect was hardly a surprise to him. They hadn’t seen eye to eye for many years, not since Antony had made it his mission in life to ruin his own name. Lord Rutledge had become proud and proper, whereas Antony had become a villain to the people.

“Deal already,” the second man at the table grumbled.

Antony turned his eyes on Mr. Percy Finch, doing a double take when he realized Mr. Finch was stacking the table high with more banknotes.

“You’ve already lost a fortune to me this week. Is this wise?” Antony gave him the chance to escape, nodding at the cash.

“My luck will change. He has to.” He hung his head forward, his expression darkening as he reached for a bottle of beer beside him. “Deal the cards, Lord Rutledge. We’re not here to dally.”

Antony sighed, as did Lord Rutledge, and the cards were dealt out.

Abruptly, as Antony looked at Mr. Finch, he was transported back to the night before and the opera where they’d had their argument. Mr. Finch’s cousin wandered into his mind, and Antony felt that same sense of anger he’d experienced.

She was haughty. She disliked me on sight!

He shouldn’t have been bothered. He had not known the lady, yet there was something in her manner that had intrigued him. Perhaps it was the fact that she resisted him, and not many ladies bothered to do that.

No. It was something more.

His eyes had wandered over her, with heat, and with little restraint. He’d put it down to the brandy in his system at the time, but he now knew it was something beyond that – attraction, pure and simple.

Perfect height, with curves in all the right places, she had to be many a man’s dream. The long brown hair had been styled unusually in a high braid, quite different to the usual fashions. It was the face that had struck him the most, the sweetheart shape, the high cheekbones, and of course, those eyes. As green as the ocean on a stormy day.

Stop thinking about her. Little good comes from fantasizing about a woman that despised me so.

“Your cousin didn’t seem thrilled about the idea of you gambling the other day.” Despite his thoughts, Antony couldn’t resist bringing her up as he collected his cards. He nodded at the cash beside Percy. “I do not imagine she would be thrilled with you now.”

“She doesn’t control me.” Abruptly, he smiled. “And I have a way to stop her from interfering in my business.” The sneer of his lip left Antony rather cold. Plainly, he was not the only one made uncomfortable at the table.

Lord Rutledge looked equally disconcerted and shifted in his seat.

For once, I am inclined to agree with Lord Rutledge. Mr. Finch seems a foul sort of man.

“Well, this is the money you gave me earlier this week.” Antony delved a hand into his pocket and pulled out the cash he’d brought with him, dropping it onto the table. Mr. Finch’s eyes darted toward it. “Seems right you should have a chance to win it back, does it not?”

“I’ll win it back. I will,” Mr. Finch said with determination.

“Do we get to play or must we wait on the bickering couple.” Lord Rutledge waved at the two of them to get going, but Antony’s mind could not settle.

With Mr. Finch beside him, he kept thinking of the woman he had met, this cousin. Her anger at him, the tart words, had left him disgruntled.

There must be some way to irk the lady, as much as she has irked me and left me with a sour taste in my mouth. 

Look out for the upcoming release of the full novel on Amazon on the 10th of August!