Chapter One

1812

Holmwood House, England

“What are you doing? Charity! Stop this madness.”

Charity pulled the glass back out of her sister’s reach and toward her own lips. She couldn’t see the glass, couldn’t see the shimmer of the claret, but she could feel the cut glass distinctly, and she knew well enough by now how to find her own lips after being blind for so long.

“Charity!” Her sister’s voice was outraged, the voice piquing higher and higher. “At this rate, you will not be able to see straight when you go downstairs. Oh…”

Charity laughed so hard at her sister’s mistake that the wine shot into the back of her throat and up behind her nose. She spluttered, realizing just how mad the whole situation was.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… Oh, I should think through my words more.”

Charity made no effort to comfort her sister. There was a time when she and Edith had been incredibly close, living in and out of one another’s pockets, but that seemed like a great distance away now. They were different people, no longer the same souls they had been as children.

Edith was a successful wife, a known party planner amongst the ton, famed for her balls and inner parties. She was the woman often talked about in scandal sheets as being the celebrated hostess, the lady whom every other woman in London was envious of.

In contrast, Charity was the blind sister. She was the one who stayed at home at her father’s insistence, no matter how much she tried to plead against it. She was the imposed prisoner in her own household.

“I am enjoying my drink,” Charity said as she leaned forward out of her seat, reaching for the carafe on the table nearby. She heard her sister slide it away, the glass scraping against the wood. Charity flattened her hand to the wood. “Return it to me, Edith. I do not take your things away from you.”

“It is for your own good.”

“My own good!?” Charity spluttered, standing up and raising her glass to her lips, downing what was left inside of it. The thick burn of the wine in the back of her throat was pleasant, giving her a tingle of freedom in a moment that felt truly dark and isolated. “You said the same thing about tomorrow.”

“That is because I believe it to be the case,” Edith said emphatically.

Charity waved a hand at her sister in disapproval and walked around the settee. She put down just one hand, so she could feel her way around the settee toward the window. She knew the layout of this chamber, just as she knew any other. She was in an upstairs parlor, one much more private and kept for the family. If Charity had her way, she’d happily spend the whole night here, away from the ball downstairs that her father was hosting with Edith’s assistance.

“This is good for you,” Edith said, her voice following Charity enough to show she was shadowing her across the room.

Charity stopped by the window and flattened her hand against the glass. It was an old habit of hers, one that kept cropping up. It didn’t matter that she could not see what was out beyond that cool glass, she still liked touching the window, for it was the one thing that separated her from the wider world. These windows might as well be the bars on her prison walls.

“Are you not always saying how you wish to no longer be trapped in this house?” Edith hissed behind her. “This way, you are out of here at last.”

“I would be exchanging one prison for another.”

“Do not let our father hear you talk so. You know he does not like your sharp tongue.”

“I am well aware, for I have felt his wrath enough times.” Charity had been quiet over the years. She had been the ‘wallflower’ others had labeled her as, for what other way was there to be? She had been quiet, dutiful, and done as she was told, with her temper only occasionally rising enough for her to be punished by their father.

Yet she could not stay quiet any longer. She would not be that wallflower and stay in a corner if her future was now laid out before her in such a fixed way.

“You would see me married to a man twice my age,” Charity said with a hooded voice. “A man known for his crudeness, his arrogance, not to mention the fact he has lost one wife already.”

“Oh, do be reasonable, sister.” Edith walked around her. Charity noted the waiver of the footsteps and her sister’s hesitant voice. “Baron Tynefield is a powerful man. With his connections, imagine what could happen to this family’s reputation. For my husband’s balls and parties, for our brother’s club, everything could fall into place.”

“I beg your pardon?” Charity jerked her head toward her sister, who sharply inhaled in return. “Do not imagine I am now losing my hearing as well as my sight. I am merely amazed that when I point out to you that I am to be a prisoner, you plead with me to go to that prison for the family’s sake.”

“Charity–”

“I thought families were about love, care, and happiness. Not reputations and connections.”

“You just do not see things the way they are. Let us be practical.”

Determined to put distance between herself and her sister, Charity stepped away, returning around the settee once more. She reached for the table, and this time, managed to find where her sister had put the carafe. She topped up her glass, eagerly. She’d already had so many glasses, she had lost count, and she was unsteady on her feet, having to plant her heeled shoes slightly apart.

Earlier that evening, her maid had helped her dress in what she was told was a pale blue gown that matched her eyes. The kind maid had said she was beautiful, dressed perfectly for the ball, but Charity had no wish to be seen in it. She even debated spilling wine all over the gown in the hope it would give her an excuse to stay upstairs for longer.

“Charity, please, listen to me.” Edith took the carafe out of her grasp, but she was a little too late, for Charity was already well on her way to downing her fifth glass of the night. “Nothing can be done now to stop the wedding tomorrow. You will marry the baron.”

“How kind of you, sister.”

“This is not my doing. It is our father’s doing. I am simply pointing out the practicalities of the situation,” Edith said in a rush. “How this family appears to others is very important. You must hold your head high tomorrow and be respected. Only if you are the respected wife of Baron Tynefield can we hope to gain from his connections.”

Charity nearly dropped the glass in amazement.

“What happened to the sister who used to sneak me hot chocolate when father denied it to me, believing wrongly that it made my blindness worse?” she asked in a quiet tone. “What happened to her, Edith?”

She is not here anymore.

And there was nothing to be done about it. Edith had her own life now, and the more time Charity spent apart from her, the more she realized what she was to Edith. Precisely what she had been all those years to Papa. She was a complication in the family, being blind, and living the sheltered life they insisted she must. They didn’t trust her to go out alone, and because of it, she was the shame of the family.

“This is not the time for such a discussion.” Edith’s voice faded, showing she was putting distance between them again. “Even Kenneth agrees with the rest of us that this is the best course of action.”

“Brother? The man who couldn’t even bring himself to come to your party and has gone off to his club instead?”

“He is doing good business.”

“Is he?” Charity was scarcely convinced of it. As she was blind, her brother Kenneth thought her dumb too. He must have thought she never noticed the rustling of papers and his curses as he checked the accounts of the club, nor the demanding messengers who occasionally turned up at the door, talking about calling in various debts.

I do not have such confidence in Kenneth.

“Charity, please,” Edith’s voice softened once more. “We do not all have a choice in life who we marry. We must simply make the most of it.”

“I could appreciate such a practical sentiment.” Charity paused long enough to take a gulp of her wine. “Had you not yourself married for love.”

The heavy thud on the other side of the room suggested Edith had sat sharply down in her chair.

“We are not all so fortunate.”

She supposed Edith meant the words to be kind, but they weren’t. They suggested that Charity was just an unlucky soul, not good enough to be one of the fortunate ones.

Before Charity could think what to say next, the door opened, the sound unmistakable.

“What’s going on up here?” At her father’s voice, Charity continued to sip her wine, having no inclination to answer him.

“Charity is in her cups,” Edith said with a heavy sigh. “What’s more, she is refusing to come downstairs.”

“What?” the voice shook with anger.

Charity stood tall, lifting her chin that inch higher. In the past, she might have quelled at the voice, but she wouldn’t anymore. If she showed the slightest hint of hesitation or weakness now, she knew tomorrow she’d find herself at the altar, beside a man she detested, facing a life of imprisonment.

I will find a better life. I have to.

“This is ridiculous,” Duncan Harris, the Earl of Holmwood’s voice boomed across the room. “Charity, you will come downstairs at once.”

“Do not raise your voice so loud, Father. It will compete with the pleasant violin music Edith has arranged downstairs. What would your guests think if they heard you?”

“Enough!” He marched toward her, his boots striking the heavy floorboards. “No more drinking.” He snatched the glass from her hand. She felt the cool liquid drip onto her fingers but made no effort to wipe it away. She simply allowed the wine to trickle down her palm. “You will do as I say, Charity. Is that understood?”

“You have told me the same thing my whole life,” she muttered, wishing to argue more and more.

Why was it that Edith and Kenneth hadn’t had to follow his orders nearly as much as she had to? The envy had been there, deep within her gut, ever since she had gone blind at the age of eight. What started as mollycoddling became an act to keep her imprisoned out of shame. Edith and Kenneth were free, as she longed to be.

“Then it is about time you started listening. You will stop being childish and come downstairs with me this instant. Move toward that door, for I know you know where it is. Take a step. Now. Or brace yourself for the consequences,” Duncan’s voice growled in fury.

Slowly, Charity folded her arms, conveniently brushing some of the claret from her hand onto her gown. She showed no intention of taking a step anywhere.

The first hint she had of what was to come was the rush of air, but she couldn’t move out of the way in time. The slap struck her cheek hard.

Edith yelped across the room, but she made no plea or beg for him to stop.

Charity stumbled back, colliding with the table so hard that she knocked it over. Her hand covered her stinging cheek as she felt the pain ricochet up, stinging around her eye.

It is always the same. It is so easy for him to hit.

“Impudent chit,” Duncan spat derisively.

Charity longed to talk back, to retort just as fiercely, but her fear of being struck again stopped her. What was more, her throat was closing up with a lump, the tears stinging in her eyes.

She said nothing, but she ran.

“Charity!” Duncan snapped at her.

She ran past him with her hands outstretched and found the door, flinging it open and sprinting fast down the corridor. If there was anyone in her path, she just hoped they stepped out of the way, for she could not remember running so fast before.

I have to escape. Somehow, I have to escape this place.

Chapter Two

“How strange this feels,” Seth muttered to himself as he looked out of the window of the carriage. It was ten years since he had last left his home village of Axfordshire. To be in a city now, with so much activity—it niggled in his gut.

He watched carriages competing for space in the road, people wandering back and forth between the timber houses and the buildings built with yellow stone. Strangers yelling at one another in the darkness, poor and wealthy alike all scurrying to their destinations as though they were pursued by the relentless hands of fate, their padded steps echoing through the misty evening.

Seth held a hand beyond the window, feeling the cool air whip by him. He knew the rush of air from riding across his estate, but in a carriage, in the middle of a city, it felt… different.

The carriage turned onto a grander road. They passed two trees and one of the branches nicked his hand.

“Blasted thing,” he cursed, jerking his hand back into the carriage. The branch had cut his palm clean open, the blood beginning to seep out of his skin. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and bound the wound.

As the carriage slowed, he lurched forward sharply.

We are here.

All the anger, all the tension he’d been holding onto for so many years, started to bubble to the surface. His breathing grew fast and labored as he adjusted his cravat gently with his spare hand, pulling it up sharply around his neck and the base of his chin, trying to mask the burn mark that so obviously scolded his skin there.

So, it begins.

As the carriage door heaved open, Seth stepped down, tucking his injured hand into the pocket of his heavy frock coat. His eyes darted up and down the town street of Winchester, before his gaze settled on the house he had come to visit.

The Earl of Holmwood’s townhouse stood out as the grandest building in the street by far. Made of red brick with a porch propped up by white pillars in a Romanesque style, it was almost laughable in its ostentatiousness.

Such a man would be so arrogant, wouldn’t he?

Seth nodded his cold appreciation to the footman, then moved toward the house. He noticed a figure waiting for him on the doorstep, arms folded, face barely lit by the single lantern that swung like a crooked pendulum in the wind. As Seth walked up the last steps, a chorus of noises met his approach.

The ball was certainly underway. People chatted and laughed, and the melody of violin music drifted out of the windows.

“Well?” Seth asked the man in expectation.

“You cannot get in this way.” The man shook his head. “The corridor is full of people, and I have just seen Lord Holmwood himself marching back down the stairs, dragging his eldest daughter behind him, insisting loudly that everyone have a good time. You will be seen there.”

“I asked you to come to give me a solution, Marcus.”

“I know.” Marcus offered an easy sort of smile, just visible beneath that orange glow. “Which is why I suggest you use the back door.” He gave quick instructions to Seth.

An old friend, Marcus, a footman, had an uncanny habit of blending in anywhere he went. He described to Seth the most discreet entrance to the house’s rear and what corridors to take.

“You can get upstairs that way without being seen. You should find yourself far enough away from the ball itself and none of the staff should be in that part of the house at this time. I was assured they’ll all be far too busy in the great hall.”

“Impeccable. Thank you.” Seth nodded once more to Marcus and hurried down the front porch steps, examining the garden and his best route to the rear entrance. 

“The study is on the second floor,” Marcus called to him, shadowing his steps. “You’ll find it tucked away in the west wing of the building. I’m told the door is recognizable by its ornate gold handle.”

Seth thanked him again and walked through the garden. He brushed aside outstretched branches from a yew tree, angered by them. He ended up tearing the handkerchief off his already injured hand, making the bleeding worse.

“Bloody thing,” he cursed under his breath, halting when light fell on a patch of garden.

Seth looked sharply toward the side of the house and the open windows. He could glimpse part of the ballroom. Many ladies danced, dressed grandly in great dresses with hair adorned in birds’ feathers or turbans, a foolish fashion, in Seth’s opinion. The gentlemen laughed raucously, tipping claret glasses to their lips.

What it must have been like to laugh in such a fashion! Seth could not remember doing so, not for many years now.

Out of fear of being seen, Seth retreated deeper into the garden, darting between the yew bushes. At least in nature, he felt more at home. His home in Axfordshire was surrounded by parkland and rich signs of wildlife. He preferred being there. At least the whistle of the wind and the tweets of the birds provided a chance to escape the loneliness and emptiness of his house.

As Seth reached the back door, he followed Marcus’ instructions to the letter, taking the door which led into the servants’ quarters. He could hear catcalls coming from the kitchens, where the cooks must have been preparing some last-minute delicacies for the party.

Seth carefully walked past the door to the kitchen, heading toward a spiral staircase that was hidden between two great old sketches of the house that had been framed and attached to the wall. Slowly, he moved up the stairs, listening at all times for any sign of someone coming the other way.

When he reached the main floor, he halted, peering through an open door into the corridor.

A footman appeared before him, suddenly, carrying a tray of empty glasses.

“Oh.” The man stumbled back, alarmed. “Forgive me, sir.” He bowed, clearly not knowing who Seth was, but recognized the formal dress and must have supposed him to be one of the guests for the ball. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“You find a man who is quite lost.” Seth affected an easy countenance. “You have come along at the right time, my good man. Tell me, where will I find the privy?”

The footman smiled humorously and pointed toward the main stairwell.

“In that door there.”

“Much obliged.” Seth walked toward the door set on the side of the staircase and waited for the footman to disappear. As the footman darted down the spiral staircase, Seth looked to the main stairwell above him.

It was the second of two sets of stairs described to him by Marcus. This one avoided the front of the house and where the rest of the guests were. Seth checked over his shoulder, unconsciously adjusting his cravat that hid his burn mark one more time, before he hurried up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.

He hastened into the corridor, trying to head toward the west wing of the building. He examined every door handle, looking for a gold one, but to his dismay, he found every handle was gold.

“What?” he muttered under his breath, flicking his head back and forth as he looked at each of the doors in turn. What sort of arrogant man ensured every door in his house was gilded with gold?

Footsteps sounded down the corridor and Seth froze.

He’d come to this house with a reason in mind. He was hardly the sort of man that would break into a house, not by any means. Yet he was desperate, and knowing the crime that the Earl of Holmwood had committed all those years ago, Seth was prepared to go to any measures in order to prove the man’s guilt.

Those footsteps grew closer.

Out of fear of being caught, Seth reached for the nearest door and flung it open, hurrying inside. He closed it as quietly as he could.

There was no light in the room, no hint of a candle, so he strained in the darkness to see there was a key in the lock and slowly flicked it shut. He pressed his ear to the wood, trying to hear where the footsteps went next.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” a voice suddenly declared from behind him.

Seth whipped his head around.

By Jove, what is my luck.

An adjoining door opened, and a woman entered from a garderobe. She seemed unsteady on her feet and shook her head as she rubbed her hands together on a cloth.

“I will not do it. I will not,” she muttered repeatedly.

Seth fleetingly thought to disappear into the shadows of the room, so that the unsuspecting woman before him would never discover he was there, but there was nowhere he could hide. Any second now she would turn and see him. She would scream, he would be found, thrown out of the house, or worse, sent to prison.

I am not the criminal that belongs in a prison. That is the Earl of Holmwood.

“Nothing they can say will make me do it,” she continued to mumble to herself before turning around.

She should have seen him then. Her eyes were looking straight at him.

At once, Seth realized what was happening. The moonlight which shone through a gap in the curtains fell on her face, revealing the paleness of those rather beautiful blue eyes, and how they stared forward impassively, not focusing on any one thing.

She reached down, feeling for the table’s edge before releasing her cloth, unconcerned about its precise landing, with her face deep in thought. She kicked off her shoes next, bending to place them by touch under a chair, once more, not needing to see what she was doing.

She is blind. She cannot see a thing.

Seth did not know whether to be thankful for this – for it avoided his discovery – or show pity. He couldn’t imagine being without his sight. How many mornings did he sit outside of his house admiring nature, watching the birds dart across the lawn and the clouds as they carved shapes across the sky? This poor woman could not see any of it.

“Mad. That’s what it is, mad,” she murmured beneath her breath. 

Seth slowly folded his arms, watching her in curiosity as he tried not to make a sound. Believing herself to be alone, apparently, she was quite content to talk to herself.

“I will not go downstairs. They can have their foolish celebration without me.” She walked past him, so close that he had to skulk back a touch away from her.

The closer she drifted, the more she was revealed by the moonlight.

She had blonde hair, curled delicately at the back of her head, with tear-drop earrings hanging down and teasing her neck. The hair shone in that silver glow, but it was the eyes that captivated him the most. The pristine blue kept gazing forward, absently at times, as though a distinct soul existed beneath them.

She reached toward a cupboard and opened it wide, pulling out a loose shift that she tossed over her shoulder. She glided by him and suddenly jerked to a halt.

Seth held his breath, fearing he had made some noise.

She turned toward him, cocked her head to the side as if listening intently, and waited.

Seth could not help admiring her. He took in the curve of her neck in this new position, and he had an errant idea of placing a kiss right below the hollow of her ear.

What is wrong with me? I do not steal into ladies’ chambers at night!

She shook her head, apparently deciding that she had invented the sound, and walked away, back toward her bed. She dropped the shift on the bed and reached for the laces at the back of her gown.

Christ… she is about to disrobe…

Seth whirled, panicking, wracking his brains for what to do next. He needed to avoid discovery, but if he stayed here now, he would be watching the poor woman undress. As intrigued as he was by the idea, his gaze almost involuntarily lingering over her petite… yet blessed-with-curves figure that the fabric of her gown tastefully embraced, he could not let it happen. It would be scandalous!

She deftly unlaced the top of her gown and the satin fabric slipped with a whisper down her soft shoulders, revealing skin as the finest porcelain. To his shame, Seth’s eyes darted to the delicate curve of those shoulders and the hint of corset that was revealed.

“Charity?” a voice called from the door behind Seth as someone rapped on the wood.

Seth felt his heart thundering against his ribcage. He stood at a loss for what to do next.

“I am not coming downstairs, Edith,” the blonde lady declared. “You can give up trying.”

“Please, just talk to me,” Edith pleaded again from the other side of the door. “For a few minutes, let us talk… like we once did when we were girls?”

Charity huffed. After a slight pause, she pulled her gown back up over her shoulders. She marched toward Seth and the door. If she came any closer, if she opened that door, Seth would be discovered.

He panicked and as she reached him, he did the only thing he could think of doing, as wild an idea as it seemed.

He reached forward and clamped a hand over Charity’s mouth, closing it tight. Her blue eyes widened, and she tried to stumble out of his grasp, but he walked forward still, keeping her lips closed.

“I mean you no harm,” he hissed in her ear. The lady was trembling before him now, her whole body shaking violently. “Please, believe that. Just tell the lady to go.”

She gave no sign of responding.

“Please?” he whispered again.

“Charity?” Edith grew impatient, knocking on the door another time.

Slowly, Charity nodded her head.

Seth went to release her mouth, carefully, watching as her body still shook beneath his grasp. One of her hands clutched to the loose shoulder of her gown. The moment he released her lips, she screamed.

The yelp pierced the air and Seth acted fast. Fearing he had become a criminal after all, the very thing he detested the idea of, Seth latched a hand over her mouth again, silencing her.

“Hmm!” She tried to wail against his grasp, but the sound was muffled.

“I am not here to harm you or anyone in this house!” he whispered in her ear, firmly this time. “I am a reputable Lord, for heaven’s sake, lady. My patience would not endure were my intentions nefarious. The moment your guest departs, I will take my leave too. You can still save this, tell her you were startled by the sight of a mouse. Again, I had good reason for being here tonight, and though this must seem mad, it is all just a–”

He paused when she nodded wildly against his grasp.

Then, his words dawned on him. The sight of a mouse? He felt a fool, realizing his mistake at once.

“Perhaps do not use those words, precisely. Please, I shall explain everything later. Just ask your guest to leave.”

Charity’s blue eyes narrowed a little. Seth could not stop looking at those eyes, admiring them. He was rather glad she couldn’t see him. What would she think if she could see his disfigurement? Would she be disgusted?

Slowly, he released her once more, terrified to see if she would scream again.

Chapter Three

Charity thought fast, trying to make sense of this stranger in her room. True to his word, he had released her again. If he had meant her harm, surely, he would have just kept holding onto her?

She supposed it was her drunken state that made her think it was a good idea to do as he said. Whatever the reason for it, she heard the words escaping her lips, calling back to Edith.

“I thought I heard a mouse, that was all,” she called to her sister.

She heard the sigh of the man before her, the sound escaping him deeply. It was as deep as that gravelly tone of his. She could not remember hearing anyone before with such a rich or raspy voice. It was utterly hypnotizing to listen to.

“And you can tell sounds like that, can you?” Edith asked.

Charity rolled her eyes and planted her hands on her hips in indignation at her sister’s belief she was completely incapable. She could have sworn she heard the man trying to stifle a chuckle at her reaction, but she couldn’t be certain.

“Yes, I can,” she told her sister. “Leave me be, Edith. I am not joining you downstairs.”

“I suppose I will not be changing your mind tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, when you have finally come to your senses!” Edith retreated from the door, her footsteps shuffling away.

“Thank you,” the man whispered, that tone as deep as before. Judging by the creak of wood, he leaned against the door.

“I think now is the perfect time to explain yourself, good sir,” she said sharply. “Considering I was about to…” She trailed off, thinking about the loose shoulders of her gown. She hurried to right the gown and tied it at her back.

“I suppose it counts for nothing if I say I was frantically trying to think of a way out of this chamber before you disrobed?”

“And you expect me to trust the word of a man who has managed to slip into the one room in this home exclusively occupied by a blind lady?”

“I… fair point,” his baritone voice tapered off into silence. 

She suddenly felt something on her cheek. She reached up and touched it. It was a warm liquid, and when she held it near her nose, she recognized the coppery scent at once.

“You are bleeding,” she said, turning around to angle her head in his direction.

“Ah… apologies once more,” he murmured, seeming to lower his head in a show of guilt. “I slashed my palm on a branch outside. I did not expect the wound to open up so soon.”

She nodded distractedly. In her dazed state from all the claret, all she cared to really think about was stopping the blood. With one hand outstretched carefully at her side, she found her vanity table and reached in, pulling out a handkerchief. She wiped her cheek, then drew out another and traced her steps back toward the stranger.

By the sound of his footsteps, he backed up from her, colliding with the door once more.

“W—what are you doing?” he said in surprise.

“I am hardly about to produce an aria, am I?” she asked with a small smile as she held out her hand for his. “Come on. Would your pride require you to keep bleeding?”

He did not answer for a few seconds, but his hand eventually hovered near hers, the brush of his fingertips shocking her own. It was such a soft touch that Charity inhaled abruptly. She blushed but caught herself. She would have thought an intruder would be sharp, even aggressive or violent, yet this man was rather gentle as she turned his hand over and found the wound in his palm, mopping up the blood.

“Who are you?” Charity whispered as she went to bind the hand with the handkerchief in a makeshift bandage.

“My name is… Seth Colborne.”

“Colborne?” Charity’s mind stirred with a flicker of recognition at that name. Somewhere she had heard it, but she couldn’t quite place it presently. “I take it you are no footman?”

“No, I am not,” he said softly. “For all intents and purposes, I am a guest tonight at the ball that had meandered off and gotten lost.”

“For all intents and purposes? You have already shared enough with me that I could have you arrested if I so desired, sir. I think I have earned some sincerity by making it clear that I would rather avoid such an outcome… so is that the truth, or not?”

“Perhaps I was a guest that did not wish to be seen. I came to… collect something from the Lord of the house. When I heard the sound of footsteps, I slipped in through this door. It truly was a coincidence that I stumbled upon you here, my Lady.” His rather formal address of her startled her.

He took his hand from hers and must have finished bandaging the wound himself.

“Thank you for your dressing… and, err, binding skills, and thank you for not screaming the house down and alerting everyone to my presence. I shall keep to my word and leave you now.” She heard the crumpling of clothes, hinting at a deep bow.

Colborne… Seth Colborne…

Charity was certain she knew that name now. He was a man of some position. Even a title perhaps. Or had she seen his name on a scandal sheet somewhere?

“Wait!” she quickly spoke up. “Did you happen to arrive in a carriage perchance?”

“…Naturally,” he answered, rather tightly, as if taken off guard by her question. “I apologize once more for my intrusion. I wish you a fine evening.” He turned the lock in the door and twisted the handle, she heard the sounds of it distinctly. For she had done so herself countless times before.

A wild idea entered Charity’s head just then, perhaps the most outrageous notion she had conjured up in her entire life. Here was a man who didn’t truly belong in this house, and he had arrived in a carriage. If she was looking for an escape, a way out of this house, could it be him?

“Wait!” she pleaded again. No sound followed of the door opening, so she presumed he was doing as she asked. “…Take me with you.”

“I beg your pardon?” he spluttered in that deep tone.

“I need to escape this house. At once,” she spoke in a rush. “I am asking for you to take me away from here, just for a day. Consider it a return favor for the one I have just done for you.”

“You are asking me to help you run away.”

She shook her head hastily. “I am asking you to assist me in leaving for a day. That is all.” If she could just be absent for the wedding day, then there was no way she could be married to Baron Tynefield tomorrow. In his anger, he might even call off the betrothal altogether. “Please,” she whispered once more.

“I cannot do that.” The voice grew deeper, sharper still. “I have broken enough rules coming here at all tonight and being in your chamber. I shall not top all of that off by stealing away the Earl of Holmwood’s daughter.”

“Not even if she is asking you?”

“Of course not.”

“Please.” She stepped forward with doe eyes. From the sound that followed, he must have plastered himself to the door to pull back from her again.

Did he recoil? Did she repulse him?

Perhaps she did. She had no idea what she truly looked like and could only remember the youthful features of the eight-year-old she used to see in the mirror.

“Fine. I wish to escape,” she answered briskly. “I am supposed to marry a man tomorrow I detest. If I can hide somewhere, just for a day, I can avoid it. From then on, I have somewhere else I can go, someone I can write to, someone who can help me. The only favor I ask is for your help for this one day.”

For a moment, she considered threatening to scream, anything to coax him into taking her, but then decided it was too far. She could not bring herself to manipulate the man in that way.

There was a hesitation, as if Seth Colborne considered the idea. Then, he sighed loudly.

“I cannot. I am sorry to hear of your predicament, but I could not do it. I suspect you are in your cups. By the time you are sober, it is a request you might regret. I wish you luck, Lady Charity.” A light touch brushed her shoulder. She supposed it was his way of trying to show a mark of respect, rather than bowing this time.

The door handle turned and whipped open, then he was gone. As he left, Charity noticed the scent of the air shifted too. The rich scent of musk and sandalwood faded away.

I knew the air was different in here. I thought it was my senses playing tricks on me.

She backed up, tottering a bit on her feet. The red wine had had an effect on her, but she was still strangely calm as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

I am trapped. I shall have to marry Baron Tynefield after all. And there is nothing left to do.

A frown touched her face. But before it could truly mar her features, a light tap sounded at the door.

“He is back,” she whispered, thinking only of the stranger in her chamber. She hastened to the door and flung it open. “I–”

“Your father has asked me to fetch you.” The sibilant voice had her insides squirming in fear.

It was not Seth Colborne. It was Baron Tynefield.

“I cannot come down tonight. My apologies, but I am unwell.” She tried to shut the door, but she felt it thud against something heavy and then thrust back toward her.

Forced backward, Charity scrambled away as Baron Tynefield barged his way into her chamber. His steps were sharp on the ground as he marched toward her.

“I will not have a disobedient wife, Charity,” he growled.

She reached for her vanity table, hurrying around it to put it between them. The last time she had been alone with Baron Tynefield was in the garden some weeks ago. When they had lost their chaperone, he had grasped so tightly at her waist, it had left her in no doubt about what his intentions were. 

“I heard you were in your cups.” Baron Tynefield leered at her over the table. She could smell the stench of scotch on his breath. It seemed she was not the only one. “Perhaps now is a good time to show you what is expected of you when you will be my wife.”

“Leave,” she hissed. “Leave at once.”

A hand reached for her across the table.

Charity veered back, trying to escape its grasp, but it was too quick. The Baron rounded the vanity, taking hold of her wrist and jerking her toward him.

“Release me!” she shouted the words, not afraid to scream now if it would get her out of here. He slapped a hand forcefully over her mouth – quite unlike the stranger had done a few moments before. This grasp was stony and unyielding, his nails digging so tightly into her cheeks that she feared it might scar her. 

“You will lay down and take what you have to, as a dutiful wife.” He moved her across the room.

“Hmm!” She scrambled to be free, trying to kick against him. She lashed out with her hands in any way that she could, trying to force him off her, but he was too strong. His great girth of stomach veered over her as she neared the bed. She bit down on his hand, determined to be free, and tasted blood.

“Ah! Hardly obedient,” he scoffed, pulling back his hand. “You’ll learn. You will.” He pushed her onto the bed. “They eventually do,” he snarled.

She reached for the headboard, desperate to pull herself away, but he grabbed her ankle and jerked her down again, so she was flat on the bed.

“No!” she screamed loudly.

There was a sudden thwack, a sound of skin hitting skin. Charity sat up on the bed, scrambling back as quickly as she could until her back hit the headboard. A heavy thud followed, and it sounded as if a large body hit the floor.

“What… what’s going on?” Charity whispered into the darkness, praying that someone would answer her.

The scent returned, the comforting one, of sandalwood and musk.

“He won’t be getting up anytime soon.” It was Seth Colborne’s voice.  

“You?” she breathed in astonishment to the air.

“Give me your hand.” The sound of a rustling coat extended toward her. He must have sensed her hesitation, for he did not move an inch. Eventually, she reached out into the darkness and took hold of his hand. His hand was much larger than her own, firm, and warm. “I struck him, he is out cold. Won’t be recovering from that for a long time,” he finally exhaled, as if out of breath. 

“Thank you,” Charity said in a rush, clambering off the bed to gain her feet as he helped her. “But… why?”

“I heard you scream on the stairs. It was a different scream from the one I heard from you earlier. One of true fear. Found myself running back here before I knew what I was doing. Wait a minute.” Seth Colborne released her. She heard his footsteps retreating from her.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure he pays the punishment.”

She had no idea what he did, but she heard the sound of another smack. Had he punched Baron Tynefield again? She couldn’t be certain.

“I do not like men who take advantage of women,” Colborne spoke in a deep tone as he stepped back toward her. “Take my hand and follow me closely. If we are to get you out of this house, we will need to leave from the rear entrance.”

Charity nodded and followed him. She did not bother arguing about the details or trying to grab a bag or anything to take with her—she just needed to escape this suffocating place. Immediately.

As she tiptoed through the house, tracing her steps behind Colborne, her hands began to quiver. She realized with horror just how close she had come to being assaulted by Baron Tynefield. Had it not been for a stranger in her bedchamber, this night could have been very different indeed.

As they stepped out of the house through the servants’ door and into the garden, she was hit by the cool air of early December. It made her shiver all the more. She could have sworn Colborne held her hand tighter as he led her through the garden.

“Step up here,” he said at one point, directing her over a set of steps in the garden with ease. “Low-lying branch to your left.” She ducked around it. He advised her as few others ever had done. She was glad of it in this moment of fleeing.

When they reached the carriage, she heard horses snorting, as if greeting their master.

“Oh.” Another voice sounded.

Was that a footman? She could hear someone distinctly opening the door of the carriage. “Is this wise, Your Grace?” the voice murmured at Colborne.

Wait… His Grace?

A wave of realization washed over her. It suddenly hit Charity where she had heard the name Seth Colborne before.

She had heard of it in one of the many scandal sheets narrated by Edith, along with his title, where someone had written how he was never to be seen in Winchester, Bath, London, or any city, for he had spent the last decade in his own company in Axfordshire, far away from the ton.

“Your Grace?” Charity whispered aloud as he steered her into the carriage.

“Perhaps not, but I had no choice,” he answered his footman. “Let us go. Now.” He followed her into the carriage, but must have sat opposite her, for she did not feel the cushion sink down beside her.

“Your Grace,” she muttered again as the carriage lurched away and that scent of sandalwood wafted toward her once more. “You are the infamous Duke of Axfordshire, are you not?”

“Changed your mind, Lady Charity? Would you prefer it if I let you out of the carriage at once?”

“No,” she said without hesitation. “Ride on, Your Grace.”

Look out for its full release on Amazon on the 29th of February!