Chapter One

"Who am I . . .?"

"Selena Savage, heiress, and sister to the Earl of Saville." Theodosia King cast her a sidelong look. "This is known."

"But what does that mean?" Selena asked her good friend as she stared, with a mixture of emotions, down at the betting book of White's and a pair of Turkish trousers that were nestled in the center of her bed. The book had been stolen from White's weeks ago but had been handed over to her by Harriet Hillstow, the Marchioness of Leeds, only a few days ago. The trousers... well, those had been delivered to her front door by an anonymous source.

"It means you are rich, titled, and have the world at your fingertips."

"But it's not at my fingertips, is it? It's at my brother's. I'm merely an extension of him." Selena glanced at her friend, her eyes widening as a thought—horrible, yet ridiculous—occurred to her. "Oh, Lord, does that mean I am a fingertip?"

"Don't be silly." Theodosia pointed at the book. "Just because a few men decided your best and worst attribute is your brother, doesn't mean that they are right."

Her friend made a good point. Selena had all but accepted that most men were lechers. Not that she'd ever been treated as anything but a lady, but she had grown up watching her brother and his friends break the hearts of many a woman without a second thought to what the women themselves might be feeling.

Tales of their debauchery had filled the halls of her home. Of course, they never caught on that she had, at times, blatantly eavesdropped entire conversations. Other times, she'd overheard snippets of their excursions she rather wished she hadn't. Yet those tales had given her a certain, rather unwelcome understanding of men.

Any romantic ideals she might have fostered as a little girl were questioned, shattered, and crushed one tale at a time.

She no longer trusted charming smiles. Charm and sincerity seldom went hand in hand. Nor did she believe pretty words to be anything but empty flattery. What a man whispered to a woman in a sweet moment was rarely ever what he meant. From what she understood, charming smiles and empty flattery not only formed part of a gentleman's duty to the fragile opposite sex but also served as a means to attract a temporary mate, like a peacock displaying its feathers to enthrall a female.

Nothing romantic about that.

Which was why Selena's view on romance had dimmed. She didn't need the fuss, and she didn't want the trouble. What she wanted, no man could offer.

In some ways, she was grateful to her brother and his friends for removing the scales from her eyes. In other ways, she wanted to throttle them.

But for now, she'd settle for escaping.

Her brother had all but imprisoned her in their home. No callers of the male variety were accepted either. This new protective attitude supposedly stemmed from the part he had played in the chaos that seized London. Chaos she had also had a hand in creating. But it was chaos he had helped set in motion.

"This is all his fault . . ."

"What are you muttering about?"

"My brother." She clenched her hands. "At first, I saw it as my duty to take the men of society down a notch to remind them that we women are a force to be reckoned with."

"We did. We are."

"Then why do they go about their days as if the trouble we caused them is nothing but a fly buzzing about their dinner plate, easily swatted away? Why am I still being ordered about?"

Theodosia laughed.

"It's not funny, Theo. It's infuriating." What she hated most was being told what to do. Had she been born a man, she'd have boxed her brother's ears and left him in the dust. Not only was he the cause of all her recent misfortune, but he had also assigned a guard dog to fend off the very rogues he was responsible for setting on her path! And unfortunately, it was one guard dog that was proving difficult to shake...

"One act of defiance won't change centuries of belief and partiality," Selena continued. "That's why we are wearing these trousers."

"Are you going to wear them or not?" Theodosia asked, fumbling with the waistband of her trousers. She'd already shrugged into hers while Selena's mind had run wild with their purpose. "They are strangely comfortable. And," she grinned at Selena, "it's one step closer to proving you have the world at your fingertips."

"They are also quite colorful, aren't they?" Selena eyed her pair, still untouched on the bed.

"I believe that is the point."

"Do you think it's them who distributed these trousers to the lovely women in Mayfair?"

"You mean the women who started a secret club?"

Selena nodded. "I still cannot believe we have not been invited to this club. Shouldn't we be invited? After all, we did do all the work when it came to stealing the betting book and distributing copies of the wagers all over London. We exposed their husbands' silly hobbies. We are the ones on that heiress list."

"Why do you want to join the club so badly?"

"It's a club. Secret. Only women. Who would not want to join?"

"Me."

"I still can't understand why not."

Theodosia shrugged. "I don't know anything about the motive of the club."

"To annoy the men of London. Same as us."

"How optimistic you are. If this club is so ‘secret,' why do we know about them at all?"

"They want us to know about them."

"Exactly. But why? Also, they couldn't have been recently formed."

Selena turned to her friend. "How can you tell?"

"Wouldn't we heiresses have been invited if they had been formed because of the book?" She pointed at the culprit, still sitting serenely on the bed. "There is something about them that I can't place my finger on. Like you said, we, the heiresses, weren't invited. So why not?"

"A question worth asking them when I find them. Regardless, there can't be a secret women's club that I'm not part of."

"Then I suggest you change into these trousers and join the parade outside. If the club did send them, showing your cooperation is the first step to lure an invitation."

"Fine. But why are you joining the parade if you don't wish to join the superbly all-female, super-secret club?"

"To try out these trousers, of course."

"And annoy my brother."

"Naturally." Theodosia gave an exaggerated sigh. "Why couldn't Warrick be the one chasing my every move? Why does it have to be your brother?"

"Neither of them should be following us around."

"True."

"In any event, I did take a pair of scissors to his favorite waistcoats."

"Also true," Theodosia said. "Are they even aware of how bad they are at keeping watch over us? They obviously mean to keep it secret, yet they are remarkably obvious."

"I believe that is simply a failing of the male brain." Selena tapped the side of her head. "The male brain has a particularly interesting function, one which allows the male in question to pretend something to be true and then believe that truth beyond a shadow of a doubt, even when hard, solid proof to the contrary is provided."

"That is disturbingly accurate."

"I, on the other hand, cannot pretend I don't see Warrick skulking behind lampposts and darting behind carriages when I make a simple round through Bond Street." Of all her brothers' friends, his brawny figure had always been the one to catch and hold her gaze. Unfortunately, she preferred a man with brain and brawn, not just brawn.

"Weren't you besotted with him?"

"That was ages ago." Selena lifted the pair of trousers into the air to study them. "Besides, I've been smitten with all my brother's friends at one time or another."

"Deerhurst?"

"Lasted one whole month."

"Avondale?"

"Just short of a day."

Theodosia whistled. "You are astonishing. Then how long did the Warrick fascination last? A minute?"

Strangely enough, her infatuation with him had lasted the longest. However, that wasn't the point. The fact of the matter was that the spell did not last forever. As with all her previous infatuations, it faded until nothing was left but a vague memory of a slight doting.

She avoided Theodosia's question with one of her own. "Have you ever been smitten with a man?"

"I can't say that I have."

"How dreary."

"Speaking of dreary, your brother and your watchdog are downstairs. How are we going to slip out without them noticing?"

"Oh, I have no intention of sneaking out. Their reaction is what I'm going to enjoy most. That and finding a clue about my future club." She brought the trousers up to her face, pressing the fabric against her cheek. "Soft."

"Your determination is inspiring."

"Why thank you. I live to be an inspiration to all women. However, with Warrick following me about town and my brother on alert, I have to be more careful in my search for clues."

"Good luck with that, my friend."

"What I need," Selena said, "is a bit of subterfuge. A way for them to believe I'm doing one thing while doing another." Easier spoken than accomplished. But she either needed that or more ears to the ground to help ferret out these women.

Selena inspected the garment from top to bottom, drawing a raised brow from her friend.

"What are you doing?" Theodosia asked.

"Looking for clues."

"You truly believe they were delivered by your little club? If so, surely, they won't—"

"Aha!"

"What?" Theodosia brought her face closer. "What did you find?"

"Look at this."

Theodosia traced a finger over the small patch of needlework adorning the ankle. "A symbol?"

Selena sent her friend a wide grin. "A signature." Her gaze returned to the black sword entwined with crimson thorned roses, and giddiness spread through her. A magnificent clue.

I have you now.

"When you find this club, please don't join them willy-nilly," Theodosia cautioned. "First determine what they are about."

"Rest assured. I am not so careless."

"Are you certain? Why do I get the feeling that the moment you receive an invitation you will grasp it with your hands and feet regardless of the consequences?"

"Don't be such a delight dasher. I will not join them willy-nilly."

"Good." Theodosia tossed a pillow over the book while Selena shrugged into the trousers. "Aren't you afraid your brother will discover their club's prized book so out in the open?" So far, the book had been handed from heiress to heiress exactly to avoid the men from getting their grubby hands on it again.

"He already had servants search my chambers."

"Are you certain he won't do so again?"

"The male brain."

Theodosia rolled her eyes heavenward. "Of course. I heard the Duke of Mortimer is also searching for the book."

Selena pulled a face. "Good luck to him."

"My sentiment as well. Have you combed through all the wagers to find anything useful about your brother and watchdog?"

"I tried but didn't get far."

"A difficult read?"

"Do not jest. Some wagers are as clear as fresh water while others seem to be written in code. Also, the names are abbreviated. I gave up after my fourth attempt." As delightful as it would be to blackmail those two scoundrels, the process of deciphering the wagers had proved more painstaking than learning French. Whatever blackmail material she could unearth was not worth the harm being done to her brain cells, which seemed to wither whenever she laid eyes on the bold scrawls across the pages.

"What a pity."

Yes.

Ever since she learned, according to the list in the book, that both her most praiseworthy attribute and her most regrettable flaw was her brother, a burning anger tightened her heart in a grip that refused to let go. Did she not have an identity of her own? Was her brother truly the sum of her?

Her brother?

He'd cared for her from the time she was still young, ever since their mother had remarried and moved to Scotland with her new husband. Saville had done his best with the hand he was dealt—they both were dealt—she knew this well. But was she even recognized as a person at all?

Finding the women of the secret club was not just about unravelling a mystery, it was about finding herself, too.

An identity.

Worthiness.

Meaning.

Because at the moment, Selena felt rather meaningless. More than that, she felt alone in her meaningless. And it was a pitiful feeling that didn't sit well with her.

"Why don't you read through the book?" Selena suggested.

"Lord no, I value my time too much."

Selena shook her head with a small smile.

"Besides, without the book, those wagers are all but hollow. On the other hand," Theodosia stuck out a leg at a jaunty angle, "we look positively scandalous!"

That's right.

Scandal and rebellion.

Selena could find meaning in that. After all, did rebelling not mean she stood for something? Even if that rebellion mostly just meant annoying her brother and his watchdog while she searched for those elusive club members.

"Shall we go shock my brother into heart palpitations?"

Theodosia chuckled. "Weeds don't wither so easily."

"Hah! Did you just call my brother a weed?"

"Some titles are deserved."

True.

Selena grinned. Like the one she would soon be claiming for herself.

*

"I'm done playingnursemaid to your sister."

Phineas North, Earl of Warrick swallowed a sip of strong, black coffee. No sugar. He swirled the remaining quarter. Two cups were usually enough to get him through each tormented day. Unfortunately, torment seemed to be the latest theme of his life.

He was already on his third cup. He needed another.

"What did she do now?" the Earl of Saville, a longtime friend, asked in an impartial tone.

"Nothing. However, I still don't understand why I must be the one who chaperones your sister in secret. She is your sister."

"You saw what she did to my wardrobe. Selena and I have never been able to keep our tempers when we disagree with each other. For our relationship's sake, it's better if you keep her out of trouble."

For their relationship's sake? Warrick almost snorted. When had those two ever not been a volatile, bickering duo? No, Saville's reason...

On second thought, better not to take a jab at a bear. Even so, he needed out.

"Commission more waistcoats. I'm done."

"I'll pay you."

Warrick's brow shot up. "Are you that desperate?"

"Yes. Name your price."

"It would be less expensive to purchase more waistcoats."

"I assure you, it won't." Saville cast a scowl in the direction of the window, where the sound of chatter grew louder with each passing second. "What the devil is that ruckus? Has a swarm of bees descended upon London?"

"Perhaps it has." Like a curse . . .

I do not believe in curses.

Yet, the day after he had turned thirty years of age, the tide had turned on his luck. From losing Avondale's list of heiresses to witnessing firsthand the fireworks that followed and being charged as a "guardian" to Saville's sister. Even more appalling, he'd been chased down the street by a woman brandishing a deuced candelabra. His arse had been pinched more times than he cared to count, and he was pretty sure he was shedding hair like a Pomeranian. At this rate, he would be bald in six months. Would he even be able to find a wife then?

There are no such things as family curses.

But the evidence . . .

What madness was this so-called family curse anyway? If he didn't wed by the age of thirty, calamity would befall him? Such an absurd superstition must have been concocted by his forefathers to ensure the obedience of their sons and to carry on the family line.

If he was going to dwell on curses, it would be best to approach it one curse at a time—starting with a certain friend's sister and relieving himself of the responsibility of being a deuced guard dog.

"Brother!" An excited chirp came from the door. "Warrick! Good morning!"

Warrick's gaze jumped to the current bane of his existence as she flounced into the room, and he nearly splashed coffee over himself as his whole body jerked in reaction to the sight of her.

Mother of Christ. What insanity was this?

Saville shot up from his chair and half growled, half croaked the question that had flared in his own mind. "What the devil are you wearing?"

Lady Selena twirled, shamelessly displaying the scandalous fit of a pair of trousers that should be—if it were not already—outlawed in Britain. "What do you think? They are pretty, are they not?"

"Pretty, my arse!" Saville snapped.

Warrick wrenched his gaze from the odd-looking yet terrifyingly seductive trousers to the fair, and thoroughly smug, complexion of Selena Savage. Waves of sandy hair cascaded down to her hips, further enhancing this unholy picture. She was not looking at him, but he knew those vivid blue eyes held a sparkle of trouble.

His gaze dropped to the thin material of the trousers again, clinging to her legs, not quite revealing their shape, but serving as a promise of what lay beneath. With the already scandalous trousers, she wore an equally improper, yet perfectly fitted shirt. He instantly recognized this as part of the men's attire the women wore at the Stewart ball when they distributed the copies of White's betting book.

Warrick stifled another groan. So much provocation in one outfit.

He may not be truly cursed, but he surely felt that way.

"Tsk, tsk, such foul language."

Only then did Warrick notice Lady Theodosia. He stifled another groan. Double the trouble.

He would not be able to escape his duty as a guard dog today. Damn it. Though he was not without fault in this. While he'd been tasked by Saville to protect Selena from fortune-hunters, he could have declined. At the time, guilt had driven him to agree. Guilt aside, Warrick had never been a man to walk away from the consequences of his actions.

Selena's grin widened. Never a good sign. "By your tone, brother, am I to assume you do not approve of this fresh style of fashion? Theo and I are quite enjoying this craze."

"What fashion craze? This is a mutiny."

Agreed.

Lady Theodosia directed a sidelong glance at Saville. "Are you certain you are using the word mutiny correctly?"

Saville's eyes took on a glint of steel. An equally foreboding sign. "I see both of you are determined to get a rise out of me this morning."

Warrick rubbed his temples. Here we go.

"As we should," Selena said.

I should add a dash of brandy to the brew.

Saville pointed a finger at the trousers the women were boasting about. "What is the meaning of dressing like this? If it's to annoy me, congratulations, you succeeded."

"This might come as a shock to you, brother, but not everything is about annoying you. It just so happens that we are joining the parade."

Warrick's ears twitched.

"Parade? What parade?" Saville demanded. "I have no knowledge of any parade."

Ah. So that's what the buzz is about.

"The one outside your house." Theodosia tilted her head to the side. "Care to join us?"

"No, I do not." Saville shook his head in emphasis, then suddenly stopped to clear his throat. "I mean, you are not setting foot outside this house."

"I should like to see you stop us, brother." Selena's smile took on a different sharpness, and Warrick instantly recognized the honed devilry within that slight arch of lips. "If you dare."

"Do not test me, Selena."

"Test you? Brother, have you not been testing me ever since your betting book got stolen?"

Warrick emptied his cup of coffee and began sweeping the cabinets for alcohol.

"I've been protecting you ever since you and your friends released copies of that damn book and caused scandal after scandal."

"Well, I shall not point out who is to blame for that, since you already know."

"What do you imagine this rebellion of yours will prove?"

"Good question, brother. I shall let you know once I have the answer to that as well."

Damn it. No alcohol.

"If not to aimlessly annoy me, then your true purpose must be to drive me to Bedlam."

"You give me too much credit, brother. However, since the wagers became public, the world of women has changed. This is a journey of self-discovery."

"The world of women?"

"It has a pleasant ring to it, does it not?"

Warrick sighed, pouring himself more coffee. At this rate, one pot would not be enough. He glanced at the women, his mind spinning on how to prevent the explosion that was about to follow this bout of bickering. "What is the parade you are joining about?"

"No one is joining any parade," Saville bit out.

Lady Selena extended a long, shapely, unwelcomely tempting leg. "Why, showcasing these Turkish trousers."

The trousers? Surely there must be a deeper plot here. "Is that all there is to this parade?" Warrick asked.

"Is that not enough?"

More than enough. They alone were a shock to any man's heart. A statement? A war cry? At this point, he couldn't tell anymore. The women had all misplaced their wits. The men not far behind. But one thing was clear beyond the shadow of a doubt—the challenge in both women's gazes.

But why had they boldly declared their intention? Were the two women testing or teasing them?

"You might as well just come along," Lady Theodosia said, her smile matching Lady Selena's. "You are going to follow us anyway."

Christ, both, then.

Saville's hands slammed on the table. "You are not leaving the house dressed like that in those... in those..."

"Turkish trousers," Theodosia supplied before she narrowed her eyes. "And why are you looking daggers at me? I'm a guest. I can leave whenever I want."

"Guest or not, neither of you are leaving this house dressed in those godawful things."

A chill slithered down Warrick's spine as Selena's gaze turned to him. "Why, brother? Can't the watchdog you've put on my tail just follow us? He's been doing such a smashing job of it so far."

The chill turned to frost.

They knew.

Warrick caught Saville's glare. "What?" he defended. "I've been careful."

"Not careful enough."

"In all fairness..." Lady Selena's tone dripped syrup. "A behemoth with no sense of awareness makes for a terrible spy."

Warrick drew his brows together. "What do you mean no sense of awareness? I am very aware." Of every situation that includes you.

"Really? Then have you noticed the way people whisper and stare at you when skulking behind lampposts in Bond Street?"

He hadn't.

His attention had always been firmly on her. Which was the entire bloody point, wasn't it? This was all Saville's fault. And if Selena knew he'd been following her, then looking back, he had a suspicion he'd been led around by the nose on more than one occasion.

Very well. He supposed she had a point. His awareness of his environment had become dismal.

"Not to even mention when Harriet was kidnapped in broad daylight a fortnight ago. You missed that entirely."

"I was concentrating on you," Warrick said, once again defending himself. Another theme of his life lately.

"Then I should applaud your focus. That at least, is truly remarkable."

"Do not change the subject," Saville spoke up. "Join this parade if you must, but you are not leaving this house unless you change to proper attire. That is my final say on the matter."

"You are the worst." Selena grabbed hold of Lady Theodosia's arm. "Come, let's leave before I strangle my brother."

The women sauntered from the room without so much as a backward glance.

Finally, Warrick could breathe again. He pushed his coffee away. The brew had failed him today.

Saville lowered back into his seat. "Damn females."

Warrick shifted in his chair, tugging at his cravat. Had the temperature risen a degree or two? "Are you sure they will listen? Perhaps we should not have let them quit the room like this."

"Don't concern yourself with their antics. It's an act of rebellion and nothing else. What can they do?"

Was Saville not paying attention, or was he in denial? "They can do a whole lot."

Saville scoffed. "Then should we escort them back to my sister's chamber to oversee their compliance? Those two won't disobey me."

A door slammed shut, the bang so close it rang in Warrick's ears. That was no bedroom door.

Warrick arched a brow at his friend.

Not disobey you?Was that not their entire purpose?