Chapter One

Februrary 1813

Timberely House

Alice Ravenshire poked at her roast potatoes with her fork. Her stomach twisted, but not with hunger. It had been a long time since she had last been hungry—years, perhaps. Probably the last time she had ridden a horse. That always worked up an appetite.

As always, when she thought of all the things she could no longer do, her leg twinged, the stab of pain familiar yet irritating. She reached down to rub her calf, massaging the wasted muscle until the ache subsided somewhat.

“We could hardly have you missing the London Season, dearest,” Aunt Lucinda said to Cousin Harriet. “If there are any items of clothing you’re missing, you know we can always have them made up for you. It would be such a shame for you to miss out.”

Such a shame. Alice stabbed at the potato with her fork, the skin creasing to reveal the steaming, pale flesh inside. Yes, no doubt it would be such a shame for her cossetted cousin to miss out on a single thing her heart desired, while Alice—forgotten, maligned Alice—no longer had access to any of the things she had once adored.

“I know, Mama,” Harriet was saying. “But I don’t want anyone to think me countrified.”

“Of course they won’t,” Aunt Lucinda assured her. “Tell her, Vernon.”

At the head of the table, Vernon grunted, lowering his paper. “No doubt you will do us all justice,” he said as he returned to the newspaper.

“There you are,” Aunt Lucinda smiled.

Alice set down her fork, potato and all. “Perhaps I could also accompany you,” she suggested sweetly.

Aunt Lucinda coughed, her hand traveling to her delicate neckline. “Accompany Harriet? To London?”

“I had a Season once, you know.” Alice jutted out her jaw, her chest aching at the rejection she saw coming, once again. “And while I can attest that it did not go precisely smoothly, I know my way around London well enough, and it would be nice to have a change of scenery.”

“Oh, well.” Aunt Lucinda looked at Uncle Vernon, obviously searching for a way out of this latest predicament. “You know the physician has suggested you rest.”

“The physician has suggested the same thing for the past five years.” Alice struggled to keep her voice even. “And my limp has not improved.”

“And so it would be very difficult for you to travel anywhere,” Aunt Lucinda nodded solemnly. “Consider, it would be even more upsetting for you to be stuck inside there than it is here. At least here you have the benefit of a garden. And you have all the peace and quiet you need.”

“It is you who requires me to have peace and quiet, not me.” Tears stung Alice’s eyes, but she blinked them back. After her accident five years prior, this had been her reality. Her aunt and uncle hadn’t wanted another body in their home, particularly one with such specific needs, but after her parents had died, they’d had no choice but to take her in. Alice wasn’t entirely sure they hadn’t resented it ever since.

Oh, they were kind enough, of course. Her uncle even paid for her treatment out of his own pocket—and fortunately, too, because she had little enough to her name. Her father’s estate had passed to the next male heir, a distant cousin, and she had only received her mother’s dowry, placed on her head in the unlikely event someone might want to marry her.

Privately, she had long ago given up on all her dreams of romance. Once, she’d read books about love and poetry and secretly hoped for her own prince to sweep her off her feet. Now, the idea made her feel queasy—even more so than the potatoes.

“I could at least go riding,” she suggested. “I know it’s possible to fashion special saddles and stirrups that account for only one leg, so my only having one functional foot shouldn’t prove too much of an obstacle.”

Uncle Vernon’s jaw set. In general, he was a rotund, pleasant-faced man, but when it came to this, he looked as stern as any gentleman she had ever encountered. “I won’t hear of it,” he grunted. “Your father may have allowed you to ride about the countryside like a hoyden, but we won’t—”

Aunt Lucinda laid a hand on his arm, halting his tongue, but it was already too late.

Alice pushed her chair back from the table and retrieved her walking stick from where it lay by her side. She despised that she needed it, but worse still, if she attempted to walk any distance without it, she would inevitably fall, and today she could not endure the humiliation.

“I understand,” she muttered, her voice tight. “I am not to be a spectacle. Forgive me; I find myself no longer hungry.”

Abandoning her plate and her family, she hobbled to the door. A footman opened it for her, and she spared him a tight smile before attempting the stairs. One hand on the banister, the other braced against her stick. The smooth, carved wood sat in her armpit, the strain of hoisting herself up an old one now.

When she had first attempted to use it regularly, it had hurt so badly that she had curled up on the sofa and sobbed. But now, she merely set her jaw and continued until she finally reached her bedchamber. There, she found her maid, Jenny, waiting for her.

Jenny had been her maid from when she was a young girl in her parents’ home. After their death, she had followed her mistress to her aunt and uncle’s home and was the closest thing Alice had to a friend.

“That bad?” Jenny asked sympathetically as she poured another bucket of hot water into the tin bath.

“I asked if I could accompany Harriet to London.” Alice lay back on the bed and stared at the darkened canopy. Winter had rushed over the country in one icy breath, and the chill permeated even these thick walls. “They, naturally, refused.”

“Well, they are probably concerned about your health.”

“They are, almost as much as they’re concerned about what people will say about me.”

Jenny said nothing, and Alice closed her eyes against the cold tears that coated them. She rarely cried now, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel the thickness of tears in her throat, or the tightness of them in her chest. Just that crying never achieved anything.

This was her life. Trapped within these four walls, unable to go further than the wall that ran around the kitchen gardens. Limited by the stick she loathed and needed in equal measure.

“There now,” Jenny soothed. “Your bath, Miss.”

Alice sat up, narrowing her eyes at the bath steaming behind the screen before the fire. Only a handful of steps—nine, perhaps. She could make them without her stick.

Jenny stood back. This had become somewhat of a tradition. Alice would attempt it, and Jenny would be there to catch her when, more often than not, she fell.

Today, she was determined not to fall.

“Fetch the newspaper please, Jenny,” she said.

Jenny hesitated. “Are you sure it’s the right—”

“Please, Jenny.”

Her maid bobbed her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Slowly, painfully, Alice rose from the bed and tested her weight against her twisted leg.

In the carriage accident that had taken her parents’ lives, she had fractured her leg in three places. The bone had punctured the skin. The doctors who attended her at the beginning said she would never walk again, but over the years, she had mastered some level of mobility.

Even so, her bones ached, and sometimes she had nightmares of those Early days: the searing, shattering agony; rough hands forcing shattered bone back into place; leather straps pinning her down; brandy poured between clenched teeth. It was a miracle she hadn’t become addicted to laudanum.

One step. Two.

Her leg ached. Her foot scuffed against the carpet, and she cursed, drawing the colorful word from the stable hands’ vocabulary—from back before the accident, when she had been permitted to ride, and often.

Three steps. Four. Five. Six, seven.

She was going to make it!

Her weight listed to the side, and she reached out a hand for the patterned screen, intending to support herself before the last few steps.

She managed one more, but twisted, and her full weight landed on her injured leg. A muffled shriek left her lips, and she toppled forward, colliding with the screen, which fell against the bath. Water sloshed against the floor.

Alice landed painfully. She lay there for a few moments, trying to get her breathing under control. Pain still burned through her limbs, and she had bruised her ribs from her fall. Tears, pointless and hot, filled her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

The door opened and Jenny rushed to her side. “Miss Alice! Let me help you.”

Exhausted, Alice allowed Jenny to wrap her arm around her shoulders and pull her up. Once Alice could support herself against the wall, Jenny righted the screen and helped Alice with her dress, letting it slip from her shoulders and onto the floor. Alice had a series of steps and supports to help her climb into the bath, and once that was achieved, she lay back in the hot water.

Steam billowed all around her. Some of the ache in her leg eased.

“Any announcements?” she murmured wearily, eyes closed. “Read them out to me.”

Jenny perched on a stool beside the bath and began to read all the announcements. When the scandal pages came, the maid read those aloud, too, both keeping abreast of the news and following the fortunes of a certain gentleman.

Alice had never met him in person, but she knew of him. The reckless Duke of Langford and the carriage crash that had changed the course of her life forever and allowed him to walk away unscathed.

Jenny’s low voice read out the announcements—engagements between peers of the realm and daughters of other peers. Deaths. Babies. The words blurred until Jenny stopped with a small gasp.

Alice cracked an eye open. “What is it?”

“The matrimonial alliance between His Grace, the Duke of Langford, and the accomplished Lady Penelope Millington, daughter of the Earl of Rushworth, takes place next week.” Her voice faded. “He’s marrying, Miss.”

Marrying. Marrying?

The Duke of Langford had ruined her life! And now… now, he was going on to marry and do everything she could no longer?

Despair burned away under the fires of her rage. This was unacceptable! She would not allow it!

Alice sat up straight, the water sloshing around her. “Jenny,” she said. “I’m going to need your help.”

“Whatever for, ma’am?”

She gave a grim smile. “We are going to London after all.”

Chapter Two

It transpired that traveling to London without the knowledge of one’s family was more challenging than it seemed. Alice needed a way to sneak out to the nearest village; from there, she would hire a post chaise to take her to London.

But to sneak out, she would need a means of traveling. And for that, the easiest solution was a horse.

While Jenny packed, Alice ventured out into the gardens and bribed the stable boy, bidding him to bring a horse around for her to ride, with one of Harriet’s side saddles equipped. She assured him she would only be going for a small ride around the estate—and she proved to him that she knew her way around horses enough that he believed her. Knowing he would likely get in trouble, she tipped him well and bid him to tell no one of his involvement.

Let her aunt and uncle wonder what had happened. It served them right for keeping her trapped.

Just as she was about to sneak out to ride into the village, however, Harriet knocked on her bedchamber door. Alice stuffed her small carpet bag out of sight and plopped down on the bed.

“Yes?” she asked, a trifle impatiently. Harriet was a sweet enough girl, but she had been well and truly spoiled by the over-indulgence of her mother, and Alice had no real patience with her.

“Which gown do you think I should wear for my presentation to the Queen? I was thinking I ought to wear the rose silk, but Mama thinks I look better in the blue chiffon. What do you think? I think silk is more becoming, and flatters my complexion.”

“If you think that, why ask me?”

“Well, because you have already been presented at Court.” Harriet looked at her as though she was stupid. “Before your accident.”

“Yes, I remember when that was.” It was an effort not to snap at Harriet. She knew the girl meant no harm, but she had never learned tact, and Alice found it wearing. “But so has your mother. If you would rather wear the rose silk, tell her and have the maids make it up. I’m sure you’ll look lovely no matter what you choose.”

“Thank you.” Harriet preened, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder. She was an extremely pretty girl—and able-bodied. Alice always did her best not to envy her, but she remembered what it was like to have the freedom of choice. To attend Court and join London society as one of its newest debutantes.

“Could I borrow your kid gloves?” Harriet asked, abandoning the question of the gown. “The white ones? After all, you won’t be needing them.”

Those kid gloves in particular were safely tucked away in Alice’s carpet bag, but she could hardly admit as much. “I’ll ask Jenny to look for them,” she said vaguely.

“Thank you.” Harriet beamed at her. “You know, I am so terribly sorry that you can’t come with us. Mama says it’s not possible and you would be miserable there, but I would rather we could enter fashionable society together. I’m sure you’ll know who everyone is.”

Not any longer.

“Thank you,” Alice smiled instead, twisting her hands together. “You must be eager to pack everything. I’ll let you get back to it.”

To her relief, Harriet took the hint, not even seeming to notice she was being dismissed in her excitement. “Yes, thank you! Send along the gloves when you find them. I shall write to you often and tell you all about my beaus.”

No doubt Harriet would have wonderful luck in London and find a husband in her first Season. Alice had come close, but no one had proposed, and before her second season could much get underway, the Duke of Langford had stolen her future from her.

Alice watched her door close again, then found her carpet bag and brought it out, leaving it on the bed. She rang once for Jenny, who would come and collect the bag, carrying it to the village. It was only two miles away—an easy distance, Jenny said, and she could easily make an excuse for leaving there.

All Alice needed to do was escape.

She hobbled down the back stairs, leaning heavily on her stick as she made her way to the library doors that led out onto the lawn. There, round the side of the house, stood the stable boy waiting for her.

“Thank you, Barney,” she beamed warmly, handing him a bag of coins. Her leg already ached, but she knew it would all be worth it. “Now, can you pass me up?”

He cupped his hands willingly, and she gripped the side of the mare he’d prepared for her. Even being this close to a horse again brought back all the memories she’d treasured as a girl—the wind in her hair and the power of a cantering horse underneath her.

She inhaled, fighting back nostalgia and tears. She would not allow this to define or overcome her.

With Barney’s help, she struggled onto the horse and adjusted her skirt to cover her legs. With difficulty, she smiled. “Thank you, Barney. Likely, my uncle will be angry with me, but I will not reveal your part in this, so make sure you don’t, either.”

“No, ma’am.”

Feeling guilty about putting him in a difficult predicament, but knowing she had no choice, she picked up the reins and used her good leg to urge the mare into movement. The mare went willingly enough, too placid for Alice’s taste but perfect for this role.

She would get to the village, even if it killed her. And from there, London.

To stop a dastardly Duke’s wedding.

She grimaced grimly. If he thought he could dismiss her and go on with his life, she would show him the scope of his mistake.

And she hoped he would bear the full consequences of his actions for the first time in his selfish, reckless life!

***

Frederick Blackwell, the Duke of Langford, adjusted his cravat in the mirror. The man staring back at him bore no resemblance to his father, and for an extended moment, he wished he could see the old man again just once more. Then he could offer all the apologies he had not adequately made before his father’s death.

Behind him, Thomas Everston, the Earl of Denshire, lounged in a chair with a glass in his hand. “Sherry? You look as though you need it.”

Frederick shook his head. “Hardly seems good manners to turn up to one’s wedding reeking of alcohol.”

“One glass will hardly make you reek.” Denshire braced his elbows on his knees. “You know, it’s not too late to back out now.”

“As though I could do that. Think of the girl’s family.”

Denshire snorted. “She’d recover soon enough. Dullest girl I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet, but she’s pretty enough, and from good stock. If you hadn’t offered, there would be a dozen men in your place.”

“But,” Frederick pointed out, allowing his valet to shrug him in his velvet coat, “I did offer.”

“And I hardly know why, old boy.”

Frederick concentrated on the mother-of-pEarl buttons he was doing up his front instead of answering.

They both knew he had no real affection for the girl, but that was not why men of his station married. Love was a commodity few could afford—not even Dukes.

After the accident a few years prior, he had turned London upside down. Gossip had been everywhere. His gaze slid inadvertently to his writing desk, where he still kept some of the scandal sheets written about himself. He was known as the feckless Earl—as he had been before his father died. The world had speculated about him, wondered whether he ought to be considered a murderer for the accident he had caused. People had died, and it transpired to be impossible to simply wipe the stain clean from his soul. For the rest of his life, he supposed, he would be attempting to pay penance.

Lady Penelope was not precisely penance, but it was yet another attempt to show the ton he had changed, turned over a new leaf, and intended to settle down. As Denshire so succinctly put, she was from good stock. It was a reputable marriage. The kind of marriage his father would have liked to see him make.

“You know why,” he said at last. “Besides, I want to do this.”

“You want to repair your reputation,” Denshire began slowly, eyes sharp and piercing. Frederick made the mistake of meeting them in the mirror. “And you think she will erase the past, but—”

“Nothing will erase the past!”

“Then why are you so eager to marry her? There are plenty of other ladies who would gladly have accepted an offer.”

“But none as respectable,” Frederick waved a cavalier hand. “And therein lies her appeal. It is the right thing to do. We both understand the terms of our marriage and the union we will form. Perhaps you do not like her, but—”

“Don’t like her? Dare I say, I’ve had more interesting conversations with Corinthian pillars.”

Frederick scowled.

Admittedly, she had very little propensity for conversation, and did not seem to ever have formed an opinion of her own, but he was not marrying so he could enjoy her opinions. Frankly, it seemed a cruel thing to judge a woman for, when he knew plenty of opinionated young ladies whose opinions were derided.

“You can’t shake me from this,” he declared firmly. “Besides, if you had intended to change my mind, you would have done better than waiting for the wedding day.” He finally turned to face his friend. “How do I look?”

“As though you are making a mistake,” Denshire said wryly, then shook his head and smiled. “But if you are certain you want to do this, then we should make our way to the church before we are late and the gossipmongers can spread more rumors of your unreliability.”

Frederick winced. Although he had done much to repair his reputation over the past few years, shunning all the vices that had led to his accident and turning over a new leaf, he knew better than anyone how quickly that could change. His reputation amongst the ton still hovered on a knife’s edge. It would take very little to push it from one side to the other.

“Come,” he murmured. “If for nothing else but to save my reputation.”

Chapter Three

Alice gripped the newspaper clipping in her hand, smudging the ink in her sweaty palms. She stared out of the window at the passing London streets, so much louder than she remembered.

When she’d first come here, as a girl of nineteen, everything had seemed so… exciting. Her father and mother had supported her curiosity and enthusiasm, allowing her more freedom than she now understood was proper. She had even, on occasion, gone riding in Hyde Park without a chaperone.

The rules were different in London. Ruin was always just around the corner—one misstep and it could find you.

With her leg, every step she took these days was a misstep.

But at least, even after a four-year absence, she was showing her face in London for a cause. So long as she wouldn’t be late.

Opposite her, Jenny sat with her hands on her lap, silently nervous. They’d hired chaise-and-four on the last leg of their journey, which gave them the freedom to arrive at the church directly, a necessity given Alice’s inability to walk far.

She gripped her walking stick as they approached the doors of the church, her heart flip-flopping in her chest. Nerves ran like raw lightning under her skin, and she forced herself to take several deep breaths as they finally came to a stop.

Outside the church, several ladies in beautiful gowns were gathered, empire waists lower than Alice remembered from her older days in London. She had almost enough time to consider that her dress was frightfully out of fashion before Jenny handed her down, and she approached the door of the magnificent building.

Head held high, she drew in a deep breath, then, without further ado, she threw it open with a crash.

The church was small. Dim. Heavy with the scent of old incense. A few ladies and gentlemen sat scattered in the pews, their whispers hushed.

And at the end of the aisle…

He stood.

As though nothing had ever been closer than right in his world.

The man who had stolen her future—bright, innocent, full of promise.

The villain of her life. Frederick Blackwell. The dastardly Duke of Langford.

For a long moment, Alice simply glared at him.

She only had vague memories of him; he had visited briefly while she was recuperating, but she had been so lost after the deaths of her parents that she had barely recalled his appearance. And before then, of course, she had seen him occasionally in society. But they had moved in very different circles.

Now, her mind clear, she was finally at liberty to take him in. He had dark blond hair brushed back from his face, a sharp nose, full lips, and a dimple on his chin as he smiled. He smiled. This was not a man whose back was broken from the guilt of what he had done. If he’d shown remorse, she might have been able to forgive him, but he was so far from remorse as to be happy and moving on.

Resentment rose in her chest, reminding her of her intention. She was going to ruin him one way or another.

“You,” she announced as she lurched her way down the aisle, the wood of her stick biting into her underarm. “How dare you!”

 The smile on his face faded as he turned to look at her. And then—the realization burned when confusion flitted across his face. She had every idea who he was; she had been following his fate for years, scanning newspapers and scandal sheets to discover every last thing she could about him.

And here he was, not only marrying a beautiful lady… but oblivious as to who she was.

He had come to visit her, to offer her a strangled apology. Despite her vague recollections of that time, she still recalled the tangled glory of his dirty blond hair, the pride in his strong features. The moment she stepped into the church, she had recognized him. She could confidently say, she would have recognized him anywhere.

Yet, he had the indecency to appear… confused?

“How could you!” she hissed when she reached the carpeted steps he stood on. He blinked down at her, and she ignored the growing whispers behind her, the outrage on the expression of the reverend. All she could think about was the simmering fury in her veins.

“How could you even consider being happy when you ruined my life the way you did? How could you imagine it was fair to stand here and marry Lady Penelope when you carry the weight of murder on your soul? Where is your penance!”

“Penance?” He choked the word., barely more than a breath, strangled in his throat. “What in God’s name are you…”

Then—suddenly—his hand closed around her wrist.

Before she could pull away, he was moving, dragging her through a side door she hadn’t even seen.

They stumbled into a cramped room that smelled of old paper and candle wax—a place she suspected the reverend used to change into his robes. It was crowded with books, mostly Bibles, stacked in precarious towers, and littered with forgotten pieces of holy paraphernalia.

“You—” she started again, but he released her with a rough gesture.

“Who the devil are you and what are you doing here?” he hissed.

Alice drew herself up to her full height. She had not lost her stick, but she did her best not to lean on it, her weight on her good leg. “You ought to know who I am.”

“Perhaps, but as I do not, I’d hope you’d be so good as to tell me.” His voice was icy.

Alice fell stumped. “My… my name is Alice Ravenshire. Daughter of Lord Brexton.”

“Well then, Miss Ravenshire, I hope you understand the scope of the damage you caused barging in here without an invitation. Do you know who I am?”

His eyes flashed, and she noticed for the first time what a peculiar shade of blue they were—like the sky upon its first awakening, when the dawn light brushed against the horizon, the darkness turning into the softest blue.

When they fixed on her the way they did, however, they were sharp and piercing—nothing soft about them. Her hands misted with sweat as she gripped her stick and held firm.

“I will, of course, be seeking damages.” There was a coldness to his face that she associated with grand men like him, but underneath it, she thought she sensed panic. “Do you know what you could have done?” He paced from one side of the room to the other. “What people will think?”

“What will they think?” she asked, frowning.

“That I ruined you.”

“But… but… you did ruin me.” She gritted her teeth. “You—”

“I can say with utter transparency that you and I have never engaged in—”

“Langford.” A man poked his head through the door. “Rushworth wishes to speak to you.” The man’s gaze flittered curiously over Alice, not even the faintest sense of recognition. Evidently, no one here knew who she was, and she was enough of a woman of the world to understand what they presumably thought. That the Duke had stolen her virtue. Perhaps even given her a child.

The disgust on his face seared itself into her soul. Obviously, the mere thought of being with her—a cripple—repulsed him.

She pressed a hand against her stomach; the rejection from this man, though she had no interest in him, cut deep.

He had no right to find her repulsive when he had put her in this state. If she was a cripple, then it was only because of his making!

“Stay here,” the Duke commanded her, then rushed out of the room. The door closed with a decisive thunk behind him.

***

Frederick’s mind raced as he approached the Earl of Rushworth, standing by the altar with a face of fury. This conversation would not go well.

He racked his brains to think of where he had seen Miss Ravenshire before. Her face, with its high cheekbones and large, almost almond-shaped eyes, held the barest hint of familiarity.

He had not bedded her. He knew that much. Aside from anything, he would have recalled the limp.

Remembering it now, he regretted dragging her away the way he had done. The only thought in his mind had been to minimize the damage to his reputation—damage that had taken place anyway.

“My apologies, sir,” he said to the Earl when he reached him, bowing his head solemnly. “I have not an inkling as to who that lady is, or—”

“We knew your history when you approached me asking for my daughter’s hand.” The Earl’s chest puffed, and with a sinking feeling, Frederick already knew what the answer would be. “We decided, after looking at your behavior for the past few years, to give you a chance. I won’t lie that it would have been a boon for my daughter to be married to a Duke. A Duchess! She would have deserved that.” His beady eyes narrowed. “But she does not deserve this. Now, tell me, in which way did you wrong the girl?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know who she is.” Aside from a name, but the name meant nothing to him. He had met more nobles than he could count ever since he was a boy. Perhaps the name sparked something in his mind, but not anything as certain as a memory. “I promise you, she and I were not involved in any sort of liaison.”

Rushworth sighed, the anger in his face lessening. “If it helps, son, I believe you. I saw the look on your face when she limped toward you. The eyes never lie.” He shook his head. “But you must understand it from my perspective. Penelope is my daughter. And people will talk.”

Frederick knew. People always talked. Even when they did not understand the scope of the subject they gossiped about.

“I cannot in good faith allow her to marry a man who would—intentionally or not—humiliate her on her wedding day. How many more women will there be coming out of the woodwork? What other aspects of your past will return to haunt you? Once you’re married, your problems become my daughters, and your scandals will taint her too.”

Frederick could have argued. Part of him wanted to—the part that still believed a marriage with Penelope would somehow allow him to outlive his past. But his past, in the form of a particularly angry stranger, had caught up to him anyway. And it wouldn’t have been dignified to demand to marry a man’s daughter when he had revoked his permission.

Another scandal to weather. This time, he would be reported to be left at the altar after the unknown woman assaulted him. A woman, moreover, with a limp. Regardless of the truth, or even what the Earl believed, people would think she was his mistress, abandoned and neglected now he was marrying. A mistress with a limp, wearing a hideous dress years out of fashion. Evidently poor.

He sighed, pinching his nose. “I understand,” he murmured, retrieving what remained of his dignity. There was nothing more to be done but accept the situation with as much grace as he could muster. “I can’t say I’m anything but disappointed, but I understand your decision.”

“I am sorry, my boy.”

Frederick nodded.

The church felt stifling, and he turned around to find the woman who had ruined this chance he had at carving himself some peace—only to find the door to the vestry was open.

The woman had gone.

How she’d disappeared through the crowd so quickly with her stick, he didn’t know. She barely seemed as though she could walk without assistance.

Thomas approached. “Out the back,” he mouthed, his face creased with sympathy. “The reverend isn’t happy about it, but he’s giving us a respectable way out of here. Come on, man. Quickly now. You can’t stop them talking about you, but at least you can stop them doing it to your face.”

“The girl…” Frederick’s voice was low, tight.

“She’s gone. I don’t know where, and frankly, I don’t care.”

His jaw flexed. “I’ll find her,” he snarled, following Thomas through the dim church and out into the garden beyond. The space was small, cold, bordered by nothing more than a few leafless shrubs.

His voice dropped to a dangerous murmur. “I will have my revenge, Denshire. Even if it’s the last damned thing I ever do.”

Keep an eye out for the full release on the 20th of June