Chapter 1

" W e're ruined! We're all ruined!"

Miss Iris Crampton looked up to see her sister, Rosalie, staring at the newspaper she was reading, a look of shock, horror, and confusion on her face.

"Rose?" she asked cautiously, her finger hovering over the daisies she was stitching into a pillowcase. "Is everything all right?"

While the youngest Crampton daughter was prone to dramatics, Iris couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease at her sister's calamitous announcement.

Rosalie turned her large green eyes—so much like Iris's, so much like their mother's—to her sister and opened her mouth, but no words came out. This was also unlike her. At seventeen, Rosalie Crampton always had something to say.

From across the drawing room, their middle sister, Violet, looked up from her book. "Are you reading the gossip sheets again, Rose? You really ought not to believe a word they say. Life for young ladies is not nearly as exciting as they make it out to be."

Rosalie found her voice. "But—this one is about Iris!"

A stunned silence greeted this pronouncement.

Iris's stomach turned over, and heat rushed to her cheeks and neck. "W-why would they write about me?" she stammered. "I'm just a boring spinster."

Violet, however, had closed her book. She stood up and crossed to Rosalie, snatching the paper from her hands. Her eyes widened as she began to read, and then she clapped a hand over her mouth.

"It can't be," she whispered through her fingers.

"The gossip sheets wouldn't lie about something this ruinous," Rosalie said at once. She turned to look at Iris, who felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach.

"Now you're both scaring me," Iris said. Standing, she held out her hand, which had begun to shake. "Give me the paper."

Violet hesitated for a moment, and Iris gave her her most formidable look. Iris was the eldest, after all, and now that their mother was gone, it was her responsibility to look out for her sisters and mitigate any harm that might come to the family. Whatever the paper said, it was better she met it head-on.

Violet handed her the paper, and Iris smoothed it out to read it.

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting. The headline, however, was far worse than anything she could have imagined.

Spirited Spinster Miss I. C. sneaks away from the ball for rendezvous with Dangerous Duke E.

Iris began to read, her heart in her throat.

Scandal ensued by the cover of night last Saturday at the Holloway Ball, when the eldest daughter of a divisive viscount was seen embracing the most dangerous Duke in the realm. Miss I. C. was the only young lady to faint at the ball, leading some to speculate whether this fit was, in fact, genuine or a ruse designed to allow her to meet in secret with her paramour. After ‘swooning,' Miss I. C. was seen leaving the ball unchaperoned and making her way to the rose garden. There, she was joined by her tall, blue-eyed Duke, in what this writer can only describe as a licentious tryst unfit for the eyes of its delicate readers

The article went on in a similar vein, but Iris had stopped reading.

The most dangerous Duke in the realm. Duke E. Tall, blue-eyed. There could be no doubt who this piece was referring to: the infamous and reclusive Duke of Eavestone.

Iris thought she might cast up her crumpets. Looking up, her eyes met her sister's.

"Who would write this?" she whispered as she slowly sank back onto the settee. "It's not true. I swear it isn't true!"

"We'd understand if it was," Rosalie began quickly. "Certainly, we wouldn't approve, but I've read romance novels, so I understand the temptation to?—"

"It isn't true ," Iris repeated, her anger flaring. "I mean… Yes, I did feel faint at the ball. It was warm and crowded, and I swooned from overexertion. So, I stepped outside onto the terrace for some air, but I was accompanied by… by…"

In truth, Iris couldn't remember who had been out on the terrace with her. Some matron or another. She hadn't been paying attention, as she'd been still woozy from her fainting spell. Now she wished she could remember so that she could beg them to verify her innocence.

"Of course, we know it isn't true," Violet interjected quickly, shooting Rosalie a scathing look. She sat down on the settee next to Iris and put her arm around her. "We'll find a way to prove it. I promise."

But her reassurance did little to comfort Iris. "My reputation will be ruined…" she whispered. "I'll be shunned from Society. And you two will be wrapped up in the scandal, tainted by association."

The irony of it all was not lost on her. After all these years as the perfect, proper young lady, she would not be the reason for her sisters' ruination. It was unthinkable. She rarely danced at balls, never flirted with gentlemen, and had never even had a serious suitor. At twenty-three, she was firmly on the shelf, happy to be the spinster who guided her sisters through the various pitfalls of London Society.

"Who would make this up?" Rosalie asked. "Could it have been one of Father's enemies?"

"Perhaps…" Violet looked thoughtful. "But why target Iris? She has never done anything to warrant such an attack." She fixed her serious gaze on Iris. "Unless… you don't have an understanding with the Duke of Eavestone, do you?"

Iris's stomach clenched, as it so often did when Violet looked at her like this. Of the three sisters, Violet alone looked like their father. She had the Viscount Carfield's dark hair and severe features, and sometimes, when she stared at Iris accusatorily, Iris swore she was looking at her father. But she knew that Violet's looks masked the kind, sensitive girl she was underneath, and who was as far from their father in personality as was possible.

Still, it unnerved her.

"Of course, I don't," Iris said, stiffening at the suggestion. "The man is known far and wide as one of the most dangerous and ruthless men in England. We have never even spoken. He rarely attends balls, and he certainly doesn't court spinsters."

All three girls were quiet for a moment as they contemplated this. Iris was starting to feel some of the shock wearing off. But as the reality of the situation began to sink in, fear also overtook her.

What will happen now? Will I be forced to marry the Duke of Eavestone? Or, worse still, what if he refuses to offer marriage, permanently ruining my and my sisters' reputations? And, Oh God, what will Father say?

Iris's stomach churned. Their father would not take kindly to a rumor impugning his daughter's virtue. Nor would he believe that she had done nothing wrong—not after a lifetime of finding fault with everything she did. His punishment, she knew, would be swiftly delivered and brutal.

A knock sounded at the door, and the butler entered. Mr. Jones's expression was grave.

"Miss Crampton, your father requests your presence in his library. Immediately."

Iris looked around at her sisters. They wore identical expressions of horror.

"Do you think he knows?" Rosalie hissed.

Violet said nothing, but her eyes seemed to be saying what Iris was thinking— It can't be a coincidence .

Rising on shaky legs, Iris followed Mr. Jones out of the drawing room and down the staircase that led to the ground floor of their London townhouse.

Outside the Viscount's library, the butler knocked.

"Enter," Lord Carfield's voice boomed from inside.

Iris took a deep breath, then walked through the door.

The room was large but dim. Heavy curtains had been drawn over the windows, which otherwise would have looked out over the hustle and bustle of Grosvenor Square. Instead of natural light, her father's library was lit with candles, which cast an eerie glow over the bookshelves, the dark mahogany furnishings, and the Viscount himself, who was seated at his desk on the far side of the room beneath a larger-than-life portrait of himself. The portrait was part of what added to the chilling atmosphere of the room, as two versions of her father leered down at her as she approached him.

Iris curtsied. "You wanted to see me, Father?"

Now that she was in the proverbial lion's den, she felt her courage rising. It was always like this with her father.

I will never let him see me afraid. Certainly not of him.

Whenever she was in his presence, she met his ferocity with a determination she had been cultivating since the age of thirteen, when her mother had left her and her sisters alone and unprotected.

I have to be strong, the way Mother couldn't be. For Violet, Rosalie, and me.

So, as she approached her father, Iris kept her head held high and her shoulders squared, and she did not once look away from his cold stare.

"A rumor has been circulating about you," her father began, his voice low and gravelly. Steepling his hands in front of him, he surveyed her with the cold, dark eyes that reminded her so much of Violet's. "A rumor about you and the Duke of Eavestone."

"It isn't true," Iris said at once. She'd been preparing this speech on the way down the stairs, and now she rushed to get it out before he could begin making accusations. "I would never dishonor myself or our family name, nor would I do anything to put my sisters' futures at risk. You must know this, Father. I have only ever looked out for them, and I wouldn't be so foolish as to throw that away for a man, especially not one like the Duke of?—"

The Viscount held up a hand to silence her, and she stopped speaking at once. Her father, she was well aware, did not tolerate disobedience of any kind. She was surprised, however, that he didn't look angry. She'd been expecting rage, but instead, he was watching her placidly, even with some amusement.

"I know the rumor isn't true," he said, and she felt a small flicker of relief. Almost immediately, however, it was extinguished. "After all, I am the one who sold it to the papers."

It took all of Iris's good breeding to keep herself from gasping. Shock reverberated through her, and she felt as if the ground had opened up beneath her feet.

"You sold it to them?" she repeated faintly. "But… why? Why would you risk our good name like that?"

"There are more things than our name at stake," her father said dismissively. "Besides, you will save your reputation by marrying the Duke of Eavestone."

Another wave of shock rocked through her, and Iris had to reach out and steady herself on the back of a chair. "But I have no desire to marry," she whispered. "You know this."

"I don't care what you desire," the Viscount snapped, his cool facade cracking for a moment. He took a deep breath, as if to collect himself, and looked at her very seriously. "As I'm sure you know, the Duke is a very powerful man. What you probably don't know is that he and I have often been at odds in our business enterprises. Over the past few years, he has bankrupted several of my business associates, and recently it has been brought to my attention that he plans to do the same to me. I cannot allow this to happen. But Eavestone is cunning. And in order to understand his plans, I need someone on the inside. Someone who can watch him, take note of his plans, and report back to me. Someone close to him, like a wife."

Iris gaped at her father. She had heard stories, over the years, of the ruthless deals the man before her had cut in order to secure his business interests. And it wasn't unusual among the ton for a daughter to be married off for the financial gain of the family. But she had never heard of something quite as mad as this.

"But why risk my reputation?" Iris asked numbly.

"Well, I could hardly just ask Eavestone outright to marry you." Her father shook his head at her, as if he expected more of his eldest. "He would refuse me on principle alone. Which is why I had to resort to such unsavory tactics. Believe me, it gives me little pleasure to drag our family name through the mud. But needs must if I am to outmaneuver the Duke and ensure our family's survival."

"You want me to spy on Eavestone for you?" Iris could hardly believe what she was hearing. "But, won't he suspect that?"

"Eavestone does not put much stock in the intelligence or cunning of young ladies, nor should he. He may suspect that I am trying to appease him, but he will not suspect that you are in on a plot to spy on him."

"And what if he discovers it?" Iris was well aware of the legal rights husbands had to punish their wives, and she was not eager to become the property of a man who would have reason to hate her.

"You will have my protection, as you do now."

Iris swallowed. She was more than familiar with her father's idea of protection.

As if he suspected her thoughts, the Viscount narrowed his eyes. "I will expect your full compliance in this matter, Iris. If not… there will be consequences."

Iris's stomach seemed to hollow out as she stared at her father. Consequences always meant something bad when it came to him. Memories—unbidden, long-buried memories—came flooding back to her—her father standing over her, red-faced, his fist shaking.

"I'll marry you off to the cruelest, most vile man in England."

"You deserve a husband who's familiar with a cane, and I'll make sure you get one."

"The husband I'll find for you will cure that temper of yours."

"What consequences could be worse than marrying me off to the Duke of Eavestone?" she asked, her voice smaller than she would have liked.

Her father smiled, a cruel, pitiless smile that chilled her to the bone. "If you refuse, then I will marry your sisters off to the meanest, oldest, and most impoverished gentlemen I can find. I will ensure that their lives are miserable and that it will all be your fault."

Iris's mouth went dry. For a moment, she thought she might be sick. After all these years, her father had finally made her worst fears come true and turned his familiar threats on her sisters.

Anger surged through her, and a wooshing sound filled her ears. She had to lower her eyes and press her lips together to keep from lashing out with all her fury. Getting angry wouldn't help anything. Her father had her cornered. He knew she would never let anything happen to her sisters, that she would do whatever he wanted in order to protect them.

But who will protect me?

As usual, she would have to protect herself.

So, even as she shook with repressed anger, the gears in her head were turning, and a plan was starting to take shape.

Let him think I've given up .

The Viscount might have won this fight, but she would win the war.