Chapter One

1814

Eleanor Bennett stared at the opulent ballroom, filled with ladies and gentlemen of the ton in various masks and costumes. Behind her, her half-sisters all gathered as Greek muses, giggling amongst themselves. A quartet played a lively Scottish reel, and a set of country dances had formed in the center of the room.

“Do you suppose the Duke of Ravenscroft will be in attendance?” Isabel, her eldest half-sister at twenty, whispered. “Mama said he was certain to be present, but when I spoke with Lady Eliza, she said that although her mother had extended him an invitation, she thought him unlikely to accept.”

Eleanor did her best not to roll her eyes, though it was tempting. The Duke of Ravenscroft had expressed his intention of calling within the next few days, supposedly with the intention of choosing a wife from among the Bennett girls. Of course, although she was the eldest, Eleanor knew she would not be a part of this ‘honored’ ceremony. Ever since her father had died when she was just seven years old, she had been the bane of her stepmother’s life.

She supposed, in a way, she ought to be thankful that her stepmother had kept her fed and clothed, with a roof over her head. Considering that Mrs. Margaret Bennett had no love for Eleanor’s father, and even less for Eleanor herself, anything more would have been foolish to wish for.

Eleanor had a home, and she had the opportunity to accompany her half-sisters to this ball, which looked as though it would be the largest and most elaborate that Eleanor had ever been to.

Given she had few blessings to count, she made sure to count them all now.

Yes, she did not have a particularly flattering dress—the patterned muslin was from Isabel’s season last year, and it suited Isabel’s blonde curls far more than it did Eleanor’s brown tresses—but she was here.

And yes, perhaps she had little likelihood of dancing, but she had her pet mouse in her pocket—an infraction her stepmother would never forgive if she ever knew about it—and would be sure to have some company that way. Besides, the beauty of the ballroom alone made her feel as though she had stepped into Olympus itself.

“I think he will choose me,” Isabel was saying, fluttering her fan at her flushed cheeks. “After all, I am the eldest.”

“Only by a year,” Annabel, her second half-sister, snapped. “And you can’t be certain he won’t find me far more beautiful.”

“With your dark hair?” Isabel snorted. “I’ve heard he prefers blondes.”

“How would you know?” Mirabel, the youngest of them all at seventeen, asked with rounded eyes. Of all her half-sisters, Eleanor found Mirabel’s company the most palatable, and if it had not been for Isabel’s spite, she thought that perhaps the two of them might have been friends. “Have you ever spoken to him?”

“Men do not speak of their conquests to ladies,” Isabel said scornfully. “No, I heard it from Lady Eliza. She told me that a few years ago, when her sister first came out, he courted Lady Lydia.”

Eleanor had heard of Lady Lydia, one of the famed beauties of the ton. She had never spoken to the lady, which was hardly surprising; ladies such as Lydia did not spend time with maligned first daughters of a deceased gentleman.

“What happened?”

“Well, I don’t know the details, but he certainly isn’t married now,” Isabel smirked and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “But I would say that it displays his preference for blonde hair, do you not think?”

“Yes, but Lady Lydia is far more beautiful than you,” Annabel murmured, pursing her lips. “She looks like a doll.”

And you do not.

Isabel slapped her fan against Annabel’s arm. “As though he would be tempted to marry you, with your coarse hair.”

“Now, now, girls,” Margaret, Eleanor’s stepmother, said, coming up behind them like a mother eagle guarding her young. With her hooked nose and sharp eyes, the comparison seemed apt, but where eagles did not have the richest plumage, Margaret wore a gown of rich crimson and a nodding peacock feather in her headpiece. As always when she appeared out, she presented herself at her very best. “That’s no way to treat one another. The Duke shall choose a bride from amongst one of you, and I’m sure it could be any one of you.”

Any one of them, Eleanor thought.

That notion did not sting as much as she had once thought it might. To be sure, she was now three-and-twenty with no prospect of a husband, but she found she had little interest in the Duke. She, too, had heard rumors about the Duke of Ravenscroft—about his rakish ways. It didn’t matter that he was due to pay them a visit to choose a wife from among them. Everyone knew that he only courted a lady for a maximum of seven days before moving on to his next victim. Eleanor hardly knew why Isabel so desperately wanted to be yet another on a long list, or why she thought she should be any better.

Margaret turned piercing eyes on Eleanor, and her brows pinched in a frown. “Why are you just standing there? Fetch me a drink before I perish from this heat.”

“Yes, and for myself,” Isabel put in. “You know my constitution is so frail.”

In Eleanor’s estimation, Isabel had the constitution of an ox. With a robust figure and cheeks often ruddy from the heat and exertion, she seemed about as far from fainting as it was possible to get.

“Hurry,” Annabel said, glancing around the crowded room. “Before a gentleman asks us to dance. You do not need to worry about that.”

“We do not all wish to spend the rest of our lives on the shelf,” Isabel scoffed. 

Mirabel sent her a quiet, pitying look, but said nothing in her defense. As is usual. Eleanor knew better than to hope for Mirabel’s defense.

“At least you are wearing a mask so no one can connect you to us,” Isabel smirked. “I do so hate it when people think we are related, and I must explain that you are so much older and yet still unmarried.”

Annabel snorted. “Only because no one wants her.”

“Now then, girls.” Margaret held out a finger, although her lips twitched. “You must not be cruel to Eleanor. She is aware of her inadequacies already, no doubt. Are you not, Eleanor?”

Sometimes, at times like these, Eleanor dreamed of telling her half-sisters and stepmother what she really thought of them. Their pride, avarice, and selfish disdain for the feelings of others made them positively dislikable, even in the soft, golden lighting of a masquerade ball. Perhaps no gentleman would be inclined to dance with her, in her plain, unfashionable gown, but two minutes’ conversation with her half-sisters would be enough to put any gentleman off the very idea of matrimony.

But if she gave vent to her feelings, they would go out of their way to make her life even more unpleasant—and that was no easy feat. Better she hold her tongue than be consigned to her bedchamber for the next week.

“Yes, Stepmother,” she said. “I’ll find some lemonade.”

“Good.” With a wave of her hand, Margaret dismissed her, and Eleanor slipped into the crowd. Finding the table of refreshments meant pushing her way through the bodies, and by the time she emerged, drinks in hand, she felt as though she’d had quite enough for the evening.

Fortunately, her half-sisters were surrounded by a collection of young men and women, and after delivering the glasses in her hands, Eleanor was able to escape. She patted her pocket, ensuring her mouse, Scrunch, remained still curled up there, unscathed.

At least one of us is safe and protected, she thought, casting her gaze about the busy room. Making herself as small as possible, she prowled around the edge of the room, aiming for the stairs leading to the balcony on the second floor. There, perhaps, she would find some privacy and quiet. But before she made it very far, a face popped up in front of her.

“Hullo!” it chimed. Eleanor blinked, focusing, and a young lady with auburn ringlets and merry blue eyes came into view. She had a round, pretty face and a smile so wide, Eleanor half felt as though it could swallow the floor and everyone on it.

“…Hullo,” Eleanor replied.

“Oh, I am so glad to see another friendly face. Is it not such a large ball? I declare I’ve never been to one like it before.” She waved the elaborate silver mask in her hands. “Are you here as a shepherdess? I love your gown—so simple! Are you having fun? I am, although I’ve only danced two dances, and both times the gentlemen were dreadful bores.” She giggled, and although Eleanor had been looking forward to some quiet, she could not help smiling in return.

“Did you find their conversation lacking?” she asked.

“What conversation? I declare, I have never encountered a gentleman with so little of use to say. The first commented on the size of the ballroom and the number of couples present in the dance, as though I should have any concern for such things. Then, if you please, said nothing else the entire time. And the second gentleman—well, I ought to have known when he said I bore the same name as his favorite hound, that he was going to speak of nothing but hunting. I am convinced that he resents the frosts for chasing all company back to Town.” She took a heaving breath and smiled prettily at Eleanor. “Don’t mind me—Mama always says I talk far too much and ladies should be seen and not heard. But, well, when you think that the alternative is listening to gentlemen speak, I don’t think it’s so very bad after all.”

Eleanor found herself smiling at the other girl, oddly charmed by her excess of words and the freedom with which she spoke. It was so different from the atmosphere at home, and a welcome change. She envied that ease, just as much as she enjoyed seeing it on display.

“I would much rather hear you speak,” she agreed. “Tell me, what was the second gentleman’s favorite hound called?”

The girl laughed, her delight contagious. “Oh, forgive me, I forgot we aren’t acquainted! Mama and I lived in America for many years, and I’ve quite forgotten how reserved you English can be. You see, I saw you and thought that we should be friends, and then I spoke with you and felt as though we were already friends.” She held out her hand. “I am Miss Olivia Ashby, although you can call me Livvy. I do hope you will, because then we will feel like proper friends, and won’t that be delightful!”

Eleanor’s stomach gave a flip. Friends. For the longest time, Isabel and Annabel—and of course Margaret—had prevented her from forming any real friendships. Yet here was this girl, seemingly oblivious to the nastiness that surrounded her.

“Miss Eleanor Bennett,” she said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Lawks, are you one of those Bennett girls?”

“They are my half-sisters.”

“Half-sisters, hmm?” Olivia sharpened her eyes, then smiled. “Well, you don’t seem half so superior as them, if you don’t mind me saying.” She glanced around her. “Oh Lord, my mother is looking for me. If she has found another gentleman for me to dance with, I think I shall be done for. Wish me luck, Miss Eleanor.”

“Ella,” Eleanor corrected, feeling as though she had been spun about in a whirlwind, and not minding the sensation so much.

Olivia beamed. “Oh, we are going to be such good friends!” She kissed the air by Eleanor’s cheek, then melted into the crowd as though she had never been there at all.

A smile lingering on her face, Eleanor worked her way around the room until she found the stairs she had originally been aiming for. Mounting them, she found herself on a small landing that led to a balcony overlooking the ballroom. Large curtains hung from the ceiling, and if she tucked herself away, she thought she might go entirely unnoticed by the rest of the ball at large.

Down below, she caught a flash of red hair and grinned. There was Olivia, led into the latest dance by a tall, spindly gentleman. Eleanor wondered if she was speaking as avidly to him as she had to her, but by the way the girl’s shoulders slumped, she doubted it.

“Well,” she said to Scrunch, stroking his tiny form through the material of his dress. “I suppose it has been an interesting evening so far. And Miss Olivia was nice enough to think I came dressed as a shepherdess.” She tugged the plain mask over her face, concealing her features. “When, in truth, I didn’t come dressed as anything at all.”

Behind her, fresh air blew in from a pair of open doors, and she inhaled, relieved at the easing heat. A cool breeze brushed along her neck, pleasantly refreshing. Yes, this was the perfect place to remain for the duration of the night.

“See, it’s truly not so bad,” she said to Scrunch.

“Did you think it would be?” a deep voice asked from behind her.

Eleanor whirled, taking in the figure standing between her and escape. He was tall, dressed elegantly as, she supposed, King Charles I, a white mask over his face concealing all but his eyes and mouth. She noticed his mouth first, in part because of the way his lips curved into a smile at seeing her, and in part because the candlelight played across the dips and lines as intimately as a lover’s fingers.

She shook herself at the thought.

“Are you alone?” he asked, peering behind her. “Who were you speaking to?”

Instinctively, she cupped a hand over Scrunch in her pocket. “No one. Myself.”

He made no attempt to approach, merely surveyed her through the gloom. Now more than ever, she was glad she’d chosen to keep the mask over her face; it was the only thing standing between her and ruin.

“If you would allow me to pass,” she said, unwilling to approach him. “We should not be seen together.”

“Oh?” His fingers came to toy with the edge of his mask, feathered like a bird, but he made no attempt to remove it. “Because you are a lady and I am a gentleman? Fear not, shepherdess, you are safe with me. I am no wolf, here to prey on unsuspecting young ladies in search of some peace and quiet. In fact, I came here for the same.” He gestured to the other side of the balcony. “Do not feel as though you should leave for my presence. See, I shall remain here and you can remain where you are, and no one down there shall be any the wiser.”

If there was another place she could go where she might find some relief from the crowd, Eleanor would have been tempted to find it, but she could see nowhere else, and with the gentleman out of arm’s reach, she didn’t feel particularly unsafe.

“You had better stay where you are,” she warned.

He gave a mocking smile. “Your virtue is safe with me.”

She gave an unladylike snort, searching for her newfound friend amongst the dancers. It was not her virtue she feared for, but her reputation and her peace. Both, he threatened.

A few minutes passed in silence, during which time she felt his gaze upon her. Determined to ignore her unwelcome companion, she kept her own fixed on the crowd below, but his attention bored into the side of her neck.

“Why are you not dancing?” he asked, one elbow propped insouciantly on the balcony railing.

“No one has yet asked me.”

“I find it unusual that a young lady would wish to be here rather than below.”

She pursed her lips. “You have no idea whether I am young or not.”

“Am I wrong?”

“My sisters would not consider me young,” she said without thinking, then winced.

“Ah, so you have sisters?”

“You can stop attempting to discover my identity, good sir.” She adjusted her mask, ensuring it covered her entire face. “I have no wish to be known by you.”

“No?” His tone warmed, as though he was smiling, but she refused to look at him. If she did, she would no doubt notice his mouth again, and that was not what a proper young lady ought to do. “And why is that?”

“Because you are a shocking flirt.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “And you have come to that conclusion because I am avoiding the ballroom below just as yourself?”

“I am not so much of a greenhorn that I don’t recognize your rakish antics,” she said as primly as she could. “I realize you are attempting to seduce me.”

“Did I not say when I arrived that your virtue would be safe with me?”

“And that, sir, is exactly what a seducer would say.”

“I see. According to you, my character is a sad one. You are wrong, little shepherdess, but let me assure you now. If I had intended to seduce you, I would have succeeded already.”

For the first time, she turned to face him, noticing as she did so how very tall he was. His hair hung to his shoulders, dark in the dim lighting, and a certain gravel in his voice made her shiver. She felt suddenly as though he were a wolf and her a sheep, and although he had promised her safety, an unusual prickle of trepidation came over her… along with excitement. Nothing about him or this encounter ought to make her feel this anticipation in the base of her stomach, and yet she felt warm like never before.

“You think it would be so easy?” she demanded. “You seem very sure of yourself.”

“Why, that’s because I am.”

“You will not find me so readily persuadable.”

“Will I not?” He stepped closer, head tilting as he looked down at her. From this angle, he seemed overly grand, a man playing at being a god—and perhaps she was susceptible, because something inside her quivered at the thought of being so close to him. “You see, seduction is very simple if one knows what he is doing. All a man needs to do is make the object of his admiration feel as though she is the only lady he has ever seen.”

Eleanor folded her arms. “A ridiculous concept. I don’t believe you can do any such thing.”

“Oh, it’s not the work of a moment. Rather, several strung together. Proximity helps. And compliments, aimed at just the right level, tailored to each lady’s particular beauty. You, for example—I would tell you that you hold yourself with rare elegance, and that this mark, here”—he touched the mole near her collarbone, the flash of heat against her skin informing her that he wore no gloves—“is singularly compelling.”

Unsteadied by the sincerity in his voice, and from having a gentleman stand so very close and speak to her so familiarly, Eleanor could not move away. “That—that is all?” she stammered, digging her nails into her folded arms so she would not lose focus. “You must have been seducing weak-minded ladies indeed if that is all it takes to charm them.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps. But let us not forget the efficacy of a well-placed touch.” He reached out and took a curl in his fingers, letting the soft lock slide across his knuckle. She glanced down, watching, hypnotized despite herself. “And then, of course, the anticipation of what is to follow. A lady who has been kissed before may know that a kiss is forthcoming; she might look at me with shy hunger. Yes,” he breathed, tipping her chin up with his other hand. “Just like that, pretty shepherdess. Have you ever been kissed before?”

“N…no,” she whispered.

“Then you are a lucky girl that this is your first.” As he spoke, he bent his head, and as though she were in a dream, she allowed him this freedom, allowed him to slide his fingers through her hair and tilt her chin a little further, so his breath brushed across her lips. And then, after a pause, where she could have fled if she were so inclined—where she ought to have fled—he brought his mouth down to hers.

Chapter Two

A first kiss ought to be maidenly, Eleanor had always thought, although she had rarely given kissing much consideration. After all, until this stranger dressed as a former king, she had never encountered a gentleman so inclined to kiss her.

In fact, thanks to her stepmother, she had rarely encountered a gentleman who gave her a second glance compared to her younger and far better-dressed half-sisters. This was the way of things, and she had largely come to accept her place in the world—fighting it, after all, had never done her any good.

But as the man’s lips pressed against hers, she felt as though the walls around her life fell away. All this time, she had never given kissing any consideration, and yet it could feel like this.

Soft, warm. Her lower belly felt molten as his lips moved, opening her mouth and tilting her head so their kiss perfectly slotted together. He tugged her closer, until their bodies were flush, and her heart pounded in her chest. Her hands moved of their own volition, reaching up to slide into his hair. Long and thick and silky, so unlike her own and yet so similar, too. She had never encountered a man with long hair like this before. Roguish, like a pirate.

At the feel of her hands on him, he made a low sound in the back of his throat, and his tongue flicked across her lower lip. She stifled a gasp. The liquid feeling between her legs deepened into something approaching an ache as he repeated the gesture, then slid his tongue into her mouth. Hot. Wet. So very different from anything she could ever have imagined.

For several more heady seconds—or perhaps they were sunlit days—she lost herself to the intimacy of his touch. The hand at her chin slid down to her jaw, fingertips soft as they skated across her skin; his other hand found her waist, bowing her body against his, holding her steady when she felt as though her knees might buckle.

For years, she had been a stranger to desire. It had never held much of a place in her life. But today, it came upon her with a vengeance, and she—

She was kissing a stranger.

Kissing a stranger on the balcony of a public ball where anyone might see them.

To be sure, she doubted many would recognize her, but if any of her half-sisters were to discover this, they would out her immediately. Her reputation would be ruined. This, she had known when he approached her, so how had she allowed him to take such liberties with her?

“Stop,” she gasped, pushing at his chest. He immediately stepped back, his hold on her loosening as though she had shocked him.

Heavens, she ought to have shocked some sense into herself several minutes prior. The music still lilted around them, the dances below continuing as though nothing had happened, but the heat that coursed lazily through her body said otherwise. Her entire life had fundamentally changed, and she should not have allowed it to.

“How… how dare you,” she hissed, jabbing a finger at him. “You said my virtue would be safe with you!”

He looked down at her, a speculative gleam in his eyes. “And you said you had never before been kissed.”

“I was telling the truth.”

His smile widened. “Then I must have been a better teacher than I could have accounted for.” He gave a flourishing, mocking bow. “You are welcome, my shepherdess.”

“I am not your anything.” Gathering what remained of her dignity and courage, she pushed past him, fleeing back down the stairs and into the bulk of the crowd once more. Her face burned and tears stung her eyes, although she hardly knew why. It was hardly as though she knew his identity or even cared to know. This did not have to go further than a pleasant recollection in her most private moments.

Though she did not look up, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he dwelled in her thoughts for even a moment, she felt his gaze linger on her from the balcony above for the remainder of the night.

***

The next few days passed slowly, syrupy like melted sugar as Eleanor tried not to think of the man at the ball, and succeeded in thinking about little else. The way he had spoken to her, the way he had touched her, and the way he had kissed her.

The way she had allowed him.

No doubt he was precisely the kind of rake she had originally supposed him to be. And she had proven herself to be just like every other girl he had no doubt seduced. For him, it had been another conquest to add to his list, a notch in his belt, but it had been her first kiss.

Her first kiss had been with a man who cared nothing for her, and who did not know so much as her name.

And yet she could not stop thinking about the way it had felt. More than once, she had come back into herself to find she was running her fingers along her bottom lip, tracing the route his tongue had taken.

“Eleanor!”

Eleanor snapped up to find Isabel hanging over her. “Ah! Yes. I’m sorry. What was it you wanted?”

“Are you even listening to me? I need you to find the green ribbons for my hair. The Duke will be here in a matter of minutes, and I am not even remotely ready to receive him! And all you can do is sit there with a dazed look on your face.”

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor said mechanically. “I hadn’t intended to—” She cleared her throat. Enough thinking about the strange man. She would never see him again, anyway. “The green ribbon. Of course.”

“And my slippers,” Annabel cut in with an oily smile. “The silver ones. I must look my best.”

Eleanor glanced at the maids dealing with her half-sisters’ hair and clothes, both their shoulders hunched in case her sisters’ wrath turned on them instead.

Better she take it. After all, it hardly mattered what she wore, seeing as the Duke would not be arriving to look at her. And the maids suffered enough torment at Isabel and Annabel’s hands at the best of times.

“I don’t like the way you’ve done my hair, Betsy,” Isabel huffed, running her fingers through the unruly tumble of blonde curls. “Brush them out and start again. It should be more—” she hesitated, feigning nonchalance, “neat. Pinned higher, perhaps. Like Lady Lydia always wore hers… what did she call it? A Corinthian chignon?”

A knock sounded at the door, and Margaret stepped inside. “Oh, my darlings,” she said effusively, touching the top of both Isabel and Annabel’s heads. “You both look so very beautiful.”

“Eleanor!” Isabel snapped. “The ribbons! And I also require rouge for my cheeks.”

“Nonsense, my darling.” Margaret held up a hand at Eleanor, stilling her. “You don’t need any cosmetic help. Better he see how fresh-faced and beautiful you are. And that goes for you, too, Annabel. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong impression of your virtue. Young ladies do not need the help of such practices.” She pinched Isabel’s cheeks. “There now. What more could you possibly need?”

Privately, Eleanor didn’t think the Duke would care too much about the virtue of his future bride. At least, perhaps he would when he actually intended on marrying, but she doubted very much this was the case here and now. And certainly not with her half-sisters.

“As for you,” Margaret said, turning disdainfully to Eleanor. “I assume you know the purpose of the Duke’s visit?”

Eleanor ducked her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then you know he is arriving intending to marry one of my three girls. The eldest two, most likely. I hardly think it necessary that you put in an appearance, especially given you are past a desirable marriageable age, especially when compared with dear Isabel.”

Three years hardly made all that much of a difference. But as Eleanor had no interest in the Duke or his escapades, she merely shrugged. “As you say.”

“Such an uncouth gesture. You ought to know better than that. Now, go and see to Mirabel to make sure she is presentable. I suspect she harbors some hope that the Duke might glance her way too.” She waved a hand, dismissing Eleanor. Sensing an opportunity for escape, Eleanor curtsied before scurrying for the door, moving to Mirabel’s smaller bedchamber. The younger girl looked up with a wan smile.

“Oh, Ella! I thought it was Mama here again.”

“Just me,” Eleanor smiled secretly. “Would you like me to do your hair?”

“Mama… Mama said I should wear your pearls,” Mirabel said hesitantly.

An unexpected stab of pain choked Eleanor, and she placed a hand against her heart. Her pearls were the only possessions she had of her mother’s—the one thing Margaret could not take away from her. Except, now, she was attempting to do just that. And the only reason Isabel or Annabel hadn’t already demanded it was because they had nicer jewels to their name.

Mirabel chewed on her lip. “I promise to give them back as soon as he leaves.”

“It’s—” Eleanor took a breath. This was nothing new, and she could endure just as she had before. Better, in fact, because she had something none of her half-sisters knew of: a secret. She had the strange man’s kiss lingering on her lips even now, proof that someone at least had thought her worthy of something, no matter how wrong it might have been. “It’s fine,” she finally said, forcing a smile. “I shall go and retrieve them from my room.”

“Thank you.”

As Eleanor fetched the pearls and placed them on her half-sister’s throat, fastening them and stepping back, she forced all unhappy feelings away. Perhaps she had hoped to wear the pearls herself, perhaps even to her own wedding, but that had always been a foolish dream. And, of all her half-sisters, she had rather Mirabel wore them. After all, now there was at least a chance of getting them back.

“Let me help you with your hair,” Eleanor said, knowing it was her duty. The other maids were too preoccupied with the older girls.

A fist pounded on the door just as Eleanor finished pinning Mirabel’s dark curls behind her head. “Come on, Mira!” Annabel called. “The Duke is here! Come downstairs to greet him.”

Eleanor gave Mirabel’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “You go, now. I’ll stay here.”

It was a testament to the usual way of things that Mirabel put up no argument as she hurried excitedly to the door. Once it closed behind her, Eleanor peered out of the window at the street below. There, a carriage was sitting beside their front door, and she saw a man emerge from it, a top hat on his head, obscuring the rest of his body. From this angle, she could see little of him, but she didn’t care, turning away and clicking her tongue. Now, at least, she would have some time to sit and read some romantic stories to Scrunch.

“Right?” she asked, patting the pocket where she kept him.

Her hand encountered air, and her stomach dropped.

No…

Surely she could not have lost Scrunch. If someone else discovered him, there would be hell to pay! They would bring up the cat from the kitchens to find her dear pet and dispose of him. No one would care that he was all the company she had in the world—they did not care about anything she owned, and especially not a mouse.

She had to find him, and quick, before her half-sisters did.

Or worse, the Duke. If he were to find her darling mouse, all would be lost!

Chapter Three

Sebastian Fairmont, the Duke of Ravenscroft, adjusted the pin in his cravat as he stared down the modest facade of the Bennett household. Beside him, the stick of a solicitor he’d brought to accompany him sniffed.

“You cannot delay the inevitable forever, Your Grace,” Mr. Pratt intoned.

Sebastian sighed. “And you are certain I must choose a bride from among these girls?”

“If you wish to access the portion of your inheritance your father locked behind this clause, yes. It must be a daughter from the former Mr. Thomas Bennett. You know your father was particularly close to the man and wished, above all, to someday bind the families.”

Sebastian knew, and it did not improve his mood one jot. If he could have his way, he would have chosen to remain a bachelor forever. Marriage sounded disagreeable, a lifelong contract he could not escape, and its only advantage was granting him access to the fortune he very much needed. Still, he had a plan, despite his father’s and Pratt’s meddling: nothing in the agreement stated he had to remain married to his wife.

“Well then,” he muttered, biting his tongue at all the unpleasant things he could have said. Much as he disliked this beanpole of a man, whose very voice reminded him of dusty schoolbooks he’d spent his education avoiding, this predicament was not entirely his fault. “Ring the bell, and let’s get this over with.”

Mr. Pratt sniffed again, but did as he was bid, and the butler immediately opened the door, welcoming the pair into the house with a jocund smile that made Sebastian feel somewhat queasy. Nothing else about the place eased that initial feeling; the décor could only be described as fussy, and as Mrs. Bennett descended on him doused in headache-inducing perfume, he had an early sense of how the visit would go.

“Your Grace,” she said, sinking into a deep curtsy. “Please, do come this way.” She led the way to the drawing room—also decorated with an inordinate number of frills—and waved a hand at the three young ladies gathered there. “These are my three darling daughters. Miss Isabel, Annabel and Mirabel Bennett.”

All three curtsied. They were, at first glance, not displeasing to the eye, but there was also nothing particularly taking about them. Certainly, he’d had far prettier girls vying for his attention before now.

“Oh, Your Grace,” the eldest said in a nasal voice that grated across his ears. Isabel, he presumed. Any thoughts of her attractiveness went out of his head immediately. “It’s such an honor to welcome you to our household. We do hope you’ll enjoy your time here. My, how handsome you are.” She giggled, whipping out a fan with more aggression than grace, and fanning herself.

“Izzy!” the darker-haired sister beside her said sharply. “Lawks, you cannot tell a gentleman to his face that he is handsome.”

“I hardly see why not, Anna, when it is perfectly true.”

The youngest gave him a toothy smile. Of the three, she seemed the least offensive, but even for London, she seemed a trifle young. Barely out of the schoolroom. “Your Grace,” she lilted, and perhaps he was imagining the youthful lisp, but the sound of it made him perilously close to running from the room. “Please excuse my sisters.”

“Youthful exuberance, I assure you,” Mrs. Bennett laughed nervously, casting the girls a look of such fierce rebuke that all three stilled. The eldest flushed like a tomato.

The fire, lit despite the fact it was May and far too hot for such things, began to smoke.

Heavens. He could not endure this a moment longer.

“This… is Mr. Pratt,” he said slowly, gesturing at his solicitor who loomed over them all like a giant spider. “Allow him to keep you company for a few moments, ladies. I require the washroom.” He glanced at a footman who detached himself from the wall with surprising alacrity.

“Of course, Your Grace. This way.”

Patting Pratt on the shoulder with a grim smile, Sebastian left him to deal with the girls’ crass behavior and ill-timed flirtatiousness. To think that his father wished him to shackle himself to one of those girls. Could this have been a punishment from beyond the grave?

No. At the time of his death, his father had not known what kind of man Sebastian had become. His father could have not known enough to be disappointed.

After spending a moment too long in washing his face in the small washroom, as if an extra splash of water might rinse away his predicament—it did not—he raked a hand through his damp hair and stepped back into the corridor, setting his course for the drawing room.

He never made it.

A blur of movement shot past him—no, into him—knocking against his shoulder with enough force to send him stumbling back. Instinct overrode surprise. His hands found purchase, gripping slim shoulders, steadying the wayward figure before him.

Dark curls framed a face—soft, heart-shaped, with a chin lifted in defiance or determination. The dim light obscured details, but it hardly mattered. His gaze caught on the blue-gray eyes, wide with something between surprise and terror. Then his attention dipped to her mouth.

Soft lips. He knew the shape of them.

After all, he’d had them pressed against his, not all that long ago.

She stared up at him, dawning horror in her face as she, too, came to the same conclusion. In a quick, nervous movement, she clamped a hand against her mouth and stepped back, angling her body from his as though attempting to hide something from him. Perhaps her entire identity.

“So, little shepherdess,” he smirked wolfishly, releasing her shoulders. “We meet again.”

That full mouth of hers fell open with a pop. “Y-your Grace?”

“The very same. But the question is… who are you?”

“I—” She glanced in the direction of the drawing room. “What are you doing here?”

“In this house?” He raised a brow. “Were you not informed of my call?”

“Yes, I—” She flushed and looked away again. She appeared different here, with her face fully revealed. Shyer. The freckles across her nose and cheeks made her appear younger than he suspected she was. “I had expected you to be in the drawing room,” she finished stiffly.

“Ah. As it happens, I was just returning.” He nodded to the door, which was now opening. Mrs. Bennett appeared in the doorway, her face pinched and sour. Once, perhaps, she might have been pretty, but that had long gone now. “Mrs. Bennett!” he said with a pleasant grin. “I’ve just had the fortune of encountering your fourth daughter.”

Mrs. Bennett gave a false smile. “You are mistaken, Your Grace. She is the daughter of my late husband, Miss Eleanor Bennett.”

Miss Eleanor Bennett curtsied, her head bowed low. He wondered briefly if she was worried he would reveal all about their kiss, and he smirked. If she thought he was in the habit of revealing his rendezvous, she was very much mistaken. “Your Grace,” she murmured.

“I believe Miss Eleanor is feeling a little under the weather,” Mrs. Bennett said. “Is that not right, Eleanor?”

“I—” the girl stuttered.

Sebastian looked at her again, the way her hands were clasped in front of her, and the way her shoulders hunched. “Miss Eleanor…” he mused. The name didn’t sound familiar to him, and he thought he knew all the notable young ladies of the ton. “Are you often ill, Miss Bennett? I don’t recall seeing you before.”

She sent him a speaking, blushing glance before looking at her feet once more. “No, Your Grace,” she mumbled.

“Come back inside, Your Grace.” Mrs. Bennett beckoned to the drawing room. “Isabel—my oldest, if you recall—would so like to play something for you on the pianoforte. She is thought to be a rare talent.”

Isabel simpered, and Sebastian knew for certain that a life with this woman would be intolerable. She would constantly be vying for his attention, and she would no doubt irritate him until he provided it.

Unless…

He glanced again at Miss Eleanor, who appeared to be trying to merge with the wallpaper.

An invisible lady.

One who appeared entirely uncomfortable with any attention, and who had escaped a ballroom so she might be alone instead of dancing.

If he had to marry, he would prefer his wife to be someone silent and docile, who would allow him to live his separate life with little interference.

Following Mrs. Bennett’s directions for now, he stepped back inside the drawing room, taking a seat and enduring the mediocre performance offered to him. Miss Eleanor Bennett made no other appearance, and he wondered at that, too. Why she had not been involved, and why she had not been invited to join them even after their introduction.

All the more intriguing.

“Well, Your Grace?” Mrs. Bennett said as her three daughters preened behind her. “Have you made up your mind which of my three daughters you wish to marry?”

Sebastian didn’t so much as blink at the veiled suggestion behind her words, and the less-than-subtle emphasis she placed on three. “You flatter me,” he said, giving her a winning smile. “I hardly know how I could make a choice such as this so soon. Would you be amenable to a promenade tomorrow so I might better acquaint myself with the Bennett girls?” He paused, letting his words settle before adding, “All four of them.”

Irritation flitted across Mrs. Bennett’s face before she replaced the expression with another smile, this one a good deal faker than the last. “Why, of course, Your Grace. Though I don’t see the need for Eleanor to be there. You saw the poor girl yourself. She hardly has any social skills to speak of, and we are not expecting that you will favor her with your hand in marriage when she would be so unsuitable as a wife.”

How ironic that you consider your unfavorable brats as better prospects, he thought grimly, and rose to leave. “I insist. It would hardly be fair of me to exclude any one of the Bennett girls when my father asked me to select a bride from amongst them.” He inclined his head. “Until tomorrow, then.”

Mrs. Bennett dropped into a curtsy. “Until tomorrow, Your Grace.”

***

Sebastian knew how to make himself agreeable—in fact, it was one of the things he had spent the past decade doing—and as he promenaded through Hyde Park with a Bennett girl on either side of him, he went out of his way to charm them.

Each, particularly the two eldest, proved themselves delighted with his attentions, talking over one another in an attempt to secure his praises. The third sister walked beside the second—he could not, for the life of him, remember their names, though it hardly mattered—and Miss Eleanor Bennett followed a few paces behind. That was the position her stepmother had commanded she take, and she hadn’t demurred even for a moment.

Although he outwardly appeared to be flirting heartily with the elder Miss Bennetts, he had his attention fixed on the oldest. Just as he had suspected at the house, she appeared shy, not venturing forth so much as a word, and accepting the muttered criticisms of her stepmother with an air of resignation.

Fascinating.

It was precisely what he had been looking for: a lady who would bow to his every command. One who would inevitably fold and agree to end a marriage between them. Not one of these social climbers by his elbow, seeking to be the wife of a Duke, irrespective of whether they felt desired or accepted.

“What do you think, Your Grace?” Annabel asked, fluttering her eyelashes and glancing up at him with such a cloying expression of adoration that he briefly contemplated throwing himself into the Serpentine to see whether she might show a hint of any true emotion. 

“I think whatever you think must be right,” he instead smiled, and she giggled, accepting his compliment at face value without considering that he had not been listening to a word she had been saying for the past five minutes.

“I don’t know why His Grace required you to be here, but you are not to speak with him unless spoken to,” Mrs. Bennett scolded Miss Eleanor under her breath. “And do not so much as look at him unless absolutely necessary. You must do nothing to put him off marrying one of your half-sisters.”

“Yes, Stepmother.”

“And stop fidgeting. For heaven’s sake, girl, did no one ever teach you any manners?”

Given he’d had his solicitor give her the family’s history, Sebastian knew for a fact that if anyone had been responsible for teaching the girl manners, it would have been the current Mrs. Bennett, who had married Mr. Bennett when Miss Eleanor was just two years of age.

The girl, however, did not mention this fact, and remained mute.

She truly was perfect for his grand plan. So effortlessly cowed, she would be easy to intimidate, and very little trouble. After all, he had more than enough experience in pushing people away. His bride would not be the first; nor would she be the last.

“I believe we’ve promenaded enough for one afternoon,” he said, guiding the two sisters on his arm in a circle, back toward his waiting carriage.

Mrs. Bennett hurried forward, leaving Miss Eleanor behind to follow at a more measured pace. “Have you decided, Your Grace?”

He smiled to himself. It was often said that he delighted in causing mischief and mayhem. Perhaps that was not always true, but today it most certainly was. “I have indeed,” he said. “But I wish to declare myself properly, and not in public, if you please.”

Mrs. Bennett flushed with pleasure, exchanging a speaking look with her eldest daughter. “Of course. Let us hurry and return. Come, Eleanor. Don’t hold us up.”

Sebastian kept up his flow of easy conversation, made harder because of his companions, until they finally reached the Bennetts’ household. Once in the drawing room, he removed his hat and gave them all a benevolent smile.

Now to set the cat among the pigeons.

“As you know,” he began, “my father asked me to find a bride from amongst Mr. Bennett’s daughters, and after some consideration, I believe I know whom it is I would like to marry.” He glanced across their faces until he found Miss Eleanor attempting to sneak from the room. “Miss Eleanor Bennett, there you are. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Keep an eye out for the full release on the 18th of February!