Chapter One

T heodosia King, sister of the current Marquess of Kingsley, stared at the man before her and studied the pearls of sweat that dotted the line of his brow, one drop trickling down the side of his cheek. The man's nervous laughter as he dabbed his handkerchief along his face reminded her of a timorous actor who forgot his lines in a Shakespearean play.

The Earl of Saville was to blame for this. Her once unperturbed life was in shambles.

Because of him.

And his friends, it must be said, but most of all him. He was the reason her mother had started hosting what she disturbingly called "blind matchups." Every morning—unless she escaped before her mother seized hold of her—she would be stationed in the blue drawing room while her mother and Aunt Rose, her father's only sister, selected King-approved suitors from the receiving room, allowing them each fifteen minutes in which the men could display their peacock feathers and do a little social dance in the hope of attracting her interest—chaperoned by her trusted maid, Nancy, of course.

She loathed every second of every matchup.

She resented her mother's strange mind.

And she hated the Earl of Saville.

Most especially today.

Even if the earl hadn't been directly responsible for these matchups, he'd still poked at the sorest of the sore spots when he'd claimed, on that horrid heiress list—the one that listed each woman's assets and drawbacks—that she had Satan's eyes. To make matters even more dreadful, he and his friends had given the whole of White's good entertainment when they'd lost the list and it had found its way into the club's betting book. The result had been predictable. Wagers about the heiresses and how quickly each one would be successfully wooed spilled over the book's pages, luring all sorts of wretched creatures to her drawing room.

All in all, an unpleasant reminder of her place in the world. She hadn't liked the Earl of Saville to begin with. Not since the first time they had been introduced in her first season, and he'd visibly flinched when their eyes met. The man was arrogant, pompous, and rude . And now he, they believed to be her biggest flaw...

Theodosia had thought she'd gotten over the incident from her childhood, but that man had brought everything back to the surface with that one comment. Reminding her—no, taunting her—that she could never escape the judgment of others. What was it that her governess had once said?

Ah, yes.

How unfortunate. With eyes like that, you must be cursed, girl. Best lower your gaze when suitors come calling one day.

Theodosia inwardly scoffed. In truth, she couldn't quite recall the woman's exact wording, but it had been something to that effect. Lower her gaze, she'd been advised.

What nonsense. It had never been in Theodosia's nature to lower her gaze. Instead, she made a point to look a man dead in the eyes—like she had done with the Earl of Saville—and their discomfort be damned.

The result? Nine times out of ten brought about the flustering, sweaty mess before her. Lord Chance. Would that this had been the only count against him.

He'd also been late. How long did it take to walk from one drawing room to another? In his case, an entire cup of tea. That had been the first count against him.

The second point against had come in the form of kissing the back of her hand upon their greeting. His mouth hovered not one, not two, but three moments too long. Must the man cling to her hand?

"Do you like tea, Lady Theodosia?"

Ah , small chatter. Smallest of the small. Irrelevant. Unnecessary. A waste of her breath. Another mark against.

What sort of question was that anyway? Did she like tea? Would she be drinking tea if she did not like it? Does anyone in England not like tea? She didn't bother to reply, merely took a sip from her cup in answer.

A small but purposeful belch slipped from her lips, and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing when his eyes widened. "Oh, my apologies. The gasses in my body oftentimes demand release in the most inconvenient moments."

He stared at her without blinking.

She tilted her head back, matching his stare.

"You... that..." He cleared his throat. "Inconvenient gasses should be left for more convenient settings."

Is that so?

And this was the man Mama selected as a possible match. She loved her mother, but she sometimes wondered if the marchioness had any sense in her head. Her mother ought to have been able to tell with one glance this man would never do. He even wore the colors of a peacock. A green waistcoat adorned with a striking blue tailcoat.

Theodosia considered the man across from her, deciding to conclude this meeting ahead of the fifteen-minute mark. "Do you wish to marry me, my lord?"

Lord Chance sputtered on air. A true feat. "M-Marriage? N-no, I wouldn't say that. I mean that is too early to speak of such m-matters."

"Why is it too early to speak of such matters?" Theodosia arched a not-so-subtle brow. "You are calling on me, are you not? If you do not know if you wish to marry me because it's still too early to decide, may I then help facilitate this decision?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lord Chance." She set her cup down and leaned forward in her seat. "Would you enjoy a wife who is outspoken, stubborn to the bone, has a temper, hates dancing, loves bickering, and has no problem when it comes to insulting the opposite sex?"

His eyes had turned to saucers that grew with each trait she listed. By the time she said "loves bickering" the man had already jumped to his feet. "Quite right, quite right. I cannot see myself with such a... such an unconventional wife."

Theodosia dipped her head. A resolute nod meant to encourage him to scamper away. She fell back onto the divan even before he'd cleared the room, shooting him a sweet smile when he glanced over his shoulder before hurrying off. How many more? She'd already entertained five lords today.

Five!

Her mother breezed into the room. "What did you say to that poor man? He rushed out of the house as though the devil was on his heels."

Theodosia gave her mother a deadpan look. "Perhaps the devil was on his heels."

"Oh, bah, if you are referring to that dreadful reference to your eyes, please stop. Your eyes are beautiful. It's your temperament that needs working on."

"I quite like my temperament as it is."

Her mother scoffed. "That is no reason to frighten your suitors away."

"That ‘poor' man sweat all over the sofa," Theodosia said without lifting her head. "Plus, we both agreed, we are not suited for each other."

"Was no one to your liking then?" her mother asked. "You must marry, Theodosia. If your brothers return and you have not so much as a suitor—"

"I have many suitors."

"An active suitor," the marchioness corrected, "one that you are genuinely considering, then they will find one for you. You know how they are."

Theodosia sat up. "Mama, if that is the case then there is only one other option left for me."

The countess cut her a curious look. "What is it now?"

"I wish to retire to Brighton for the season."

"Brighton? Why?"

A myriad of reasons. These blinds matchups, for one. For another, Theodosia had the stolen betting book in her bedchamber, hidden amongst all her bonnets. She also had an annoying tail—Saville. She wanted to escape him most. He'd been following her all over town, showing up at events she attended, and generally getting in her way. And then there were her brothers. Lord knew what they would do when they discovered all that had been happening in London while they were away on business.

And then there were the men of the ton as a group. Their faces annoyed her. Their smiles. Their gestures. Urgh! Nothing seemed sincere anymore this season. The sea air sounded like just the thing she needed. The country life. Peace. Calm. She didn't want to deal with the men of London anymore. Not this season.

But she couldn't confess all that to her mother.

"Aunt Crystal is there, is she not? After everything that has transpired—"

"You mean making copies of the betting book of White's and distributing it at the Stewart Ball in a spectacular fashion and causing a scandal? Those events?"

Well, her mother never was one to mince words. "Yes, exactly that," Theodosia admitted. And so much more. "Have you not wanted me to retire since the list of heiresses appeared?"

"Yes, after the scandal of the copies being spread by your hand, when it seemed you were skirting the edges of ruin. Now, with the blind matchup meetings, I believe you'll be sure to find a husband in no time and secure your spot in society before any more scandals erupt."

"Mama, if Lord Chance is any indication of my prospects this season, then I'm afraid the next scandal will blossom in this very drawing room in the form of some truly magnificent rumors as I scare each lord witless with my strong-willed temperament that would make me a most inconvenient wife."

Her mother gave her a flat look. "You do make an exceedingly exasperating, yet valid point."

"See, it is best to retire to Brighton, Mama. And those hellion brothers of mine are going to raise hell when they return. I'd rather not bear the brunt of their rage."

"There is that..." her mother murmured, tapping her chin. The marchioness suddenly lifted a brow. "Are you sure you are not running away from a certain earl?"

Theodosia shot upright. She... "You know about him?"

"Of course," the marchioness said. "I am your mother. I know much more than you imagine."

Theodosia cocked her head to the side. She wasn't sure if she should be more amused or afraid. "What exactly do you know, Mama?"

Her mother shrugged. "I've heard some birds chirp that this certain earl feels guilty for his part in the list and that he and the others responsible have chosen to protect the heiresses as much as they can."

Just who was her mother's source? "Well, that is quite impressive."

Her mother's smile turned sweet as sugar. "I am impressive, dear. And perhaps you are right. Retiring to Brighton might not be the worst idea while the dust of the season settles here. Especially for Seth's sake. Once he learns about this season's events, I believe he shall require a moment to cool his temper. You know how protective he has been since your father's death."

Protective? More like infuriating. However, it was true that Seth had been under immense pressure the past year as he took over and began managing the full duties of their estates. He'd even decided to forgo the season and tour all of their properties. In fact, all of her older brothers had decided to attend estate matters rather high-handedly all over England—much to the vexation of her mother. At least some of them were still at school most of the time.

But they would all return home—sooner rather than later—and she would prefer not to be here when they did. As her mother said, it was best to allow their tempers to cool once they discovered the events of the season. "Then it's settled," Theodosia rose. "I won't entertain callers anymore today, Mama. I'm done with them since they are a moot point now. I will go pack for my trip."

Her mother sighed. "Very well. I shall not stop you. After all, there was a time I ran away from your father, as well."

What? Where did that come from? "I have so many questions, Mama, but first and foremost, our situations are different, do you not think?"

"You are running away, are you not?"

"Even if I call this running away—which I am not—it's not from a man." It was from several.

If she were running away. But this was simply a tactical retreat. For peace. Period.

The marchioness arched a brow. "If you say so, dear."

"I do say so, Mama."

Her mother chuckled. "Do not be vexed with me, Theodosia. I have your best interest at heart, after all."

Theodosia eyed her mother thoughtfully. "Why did you run away from father?"

"All women run away," she smiled. "Whether they realize it or not."

"How cryptic."

"You shall understand one day, dear. I do so look forward to that day."

"We shall see," Theodosia murmured, not quite certain how to respond to that. "About your sons..."

"Leave your brothers to me. I have worked hard enough to keep them in the dark about their sister dressing up as a man and distributing copies of the betting book, not to mention that Turkish trousers parade."

"Mama." Theodosia sent her mother A Look. "Do not think I don't know about your Turkish trousers."

The marchioness let out a small chuckle. "Ah, well, they are comfortable, are they not? Your brothers will absolutely hate them."

"All the more reason for me to make haste for Brighton."

She would leave first thing tomorrow.

*

"Field!"

Field Savage, the Earl of Saville, flinched as his sister slammed into his study, causing his ears to ring.

Christ, what now?

"What's the problem? I'm leaving within the hour. I don't have time for theatrics." He had a minx to catch up with.

Selena came to a halt, startled, and then exploded, "Theatrics! You will see theatrics in a moment if you don't get beneath your desk!"

Beneath his desk? Was this another trick to inflict misery on him? Had destroying his waistcoats and his portrait not been enough? His eyes caught on her robe. "Why are you flaunting Warrick's robe in broad daylight again?"

"It's comfortable."

"Well, it's deuced uncomfortable for me. You are betrothed, yet you act like damn newlyweds." He tried to ignore their displays of affection as much as possible, but his eyes hurt whenever he saw them flaunting convention.

"In our hearts we are newlyweds." She flashed him a grin before it once more disappeared. "But that is not the issue at hand. You need to hide!"

Field cast her a suspicious look. "Why?"

"The King brothers are here. Well, four of them." She came around his desk. "There is no time—get under the desk."

The King brothers? Why the hell would he hide from them? "Let them come."

"Do you want to die today?"

Why would he die? "I'm not afraid of them, and they have no reason to kill me."

"Are you sure? And do you think reason matters at a time like this? Warrick is leading them over as we speak."

Just whose house was this anyway? "How do you even know this?"

"We happened to be on our way to the dining room when they crowded into the foyer, demanding an audience. Warrick went to save your hide."

"And you rushed here?"

"Of course, the moment it became clear they wouldn't leave. You are after all, my dearest brother."

"Why not bundle them into a drawing room?" Field grumbled.

"Don't look at me like that. They were being difficult. The last thing I overhead was the marquess insisting that the study is the only place where men should talk business."

"I am not hiding!"

"And what if they make it difficult for you to leave London?" Selena asked. "What if they follow you? There is no telling how a meeting might end if you lose your temper."

"Fine, damn it." He would do it, but only because he wanted a seamless departure and had no wish to be delayed. He hunched down and crawled under his desk, a big solid mahogany desk that would shield him from the view of anyone who entered. Selena crawled in after him.

What are you doing , he mouthed.

I'm hiding, too , she mouthed back.

The pad of footsteps followed seconds later, "Make yourselves comfortable," the Earl of Warrick said as they entered the room.

Field imagined the Kings piling into his study, their eyes ablaze with the fire of whatever they wish to confront him on. He cursed them in his head. Even if they were out for blood, why should he hide in his own damn house?

"We're fine," one of the brothers said, Seth King, the Marquess of Kingsley. The man had a low drawl, a cadence that could only belong to the one in charge of the group. "I'll be brief. Where is Saville? We have questions for him."

"I'm afraid he is out. You can direct any questions to me."

"Do you always speak for your friend?" the marquess asked.

"As his brother-in-law, yes, I can speak in his stead."

"I see," the man said. "You married Lady Selena. Congratulations." More soft, almost reluctant murmurs of congratulations filled the air.

"Thank you."

Field snorted. You haven't married her yet, you damn blackguard. He shot his sister a hot look. She smiled back at him.

"Now let's get to the point, shall we?" Warrick continued. "What questions do you have?"

Yes, let's get to the point so I can leave.

"I've heard rumors. Rumors I don't like."

"You will have to be more specific than that, Kingsley," Warrick said. "There are hundreds of rumors going around town these days."

"Your brother-in-law has been pestering my sister."

Field took offense at that word. Pestering? What rubbish was this? He'd been keeping an eye on her to protect her. Granted, from a mess he had a hand in causing, but that was him taking responsibility for his mistake.

"Pestering? Are you sure? I haven't heard such a rumor," Warrick responded. "Saville may be many things, but he is not a pest."

Thank you very much.

"What would you call following her around like a lost puppy—"

Lost puppy? More offense!

"—and showing up at our house uninvited, giving my sister gifts?"

"Fair point," Warrick said. "I can't answer to that."

Field furrowed his brows. Were they griping about a simple birthday gift? They hadn't said anything about the heiress list or the wagers, but he didn't believe these brothers hadn't already ferreted out the truth. Perhaps they were testing the waters before they made their move. And why the hell was he hiding beneath his desk again? The space was cramped, especially with Selena hunkering with him.

Deuced embarrassing.

"I'll be frank," Warrick said. "What is it you hope to gain from calling on Saville today? A few rumors are hardly something to get riled up over."

Good, redirect the conversation.

"There are enough rumors for us to want his head," another voice snapped.

There was a short pause, then Field's ears perked up once more. "We want to confirm whether he has designs on our sister." The marquess again.

He did not. But what did it matter to them anyway?

"What happens if he has designs on your sister?" Warrick asked, an unmistakable hint of curiosity woven within his question.

Why would this blackguard even ask this?

"Then I will politely warn him to lose them."

Field pulled a face. Politely my arse. But he did lose something then and there, his damn patience. A hand clamped down on his arm. His sister shook her head. Only then did Field realize he had moved to crawl out from under the desk.

A silent curse rattled in his head as he settled back with a scowl.

"And what if he doesn't?" Warrick pressed. "Does your sister not have a say in this? She might even enjoy his designs."

"I'd still caution him to keep his distance. We know about the book, and we don't want our sister to get caught up with a man with no scruples. We shall protect her in any way possible."

Field inwardly scoffed. No scruples? He had many scruples.

"Your sister might not share your view or welcome your meddling. I speak from experience."

Field shot a glare at Warrick through the wooden furniture separating them. While his meddling in Selena and Warrick's "courtship" hadn't been accepted with a smile in any shape or form, Lady Theodosia might just bask in her brother's. After all, she had helped his sister cut up his waistcoats and turn his portrait into a devil. And hadn't Selena said Lady Theodosia had called him a weed? A. Weed. He'd certainly been called worse in his life, but nothing had ever stung like that one word.

How did I sire a son like you? What a waste you are.

Field dragged a hand through his hair.

Those taunting words had bothered him for a long while now. However, it was hard to dismiss them while he was hiding beneath his own desk. He'd damn well failed. He'd failed his sister. He'd failed the women on the list. He'd failed himself.

A horrid feeling if he'd ever felt one.

He wanted to rid himself of it.

"Our sister will follow the directive of her family, so tell Saville to stay from any and all Kings."

"This is bullshit," another brother said. "She has already been caught up with him. I say we put a hole in his heart and be done with it. I demand satisfaction."

"Then why not demand it from me, too?" Warrick asked. "I, Deerhurst, and Avondale are just as responsible for what happened as Saville is."

"Then you are openly admitting you are the cause of this chaos?"

"We had a hand in it," Warrick admitted. "However, we did not draft the list."

"There are other rumors, too," the marquess announced.

Fields frowned deepened. It seemed they were finally getting to the true point.

"Ah, and what rumors are those?" Warrick echoed his thoughts.

"Rumors about my sister and Saville," Kingsley said. "Rumors that they are engaged. Our sister might have fled London because of this."

Come again? Rumors about what ?

What utter drivel! This was the first time he had heard anything about any such rumors!

Field paused. Though if true, this might very well be a part of why she suddenly decided to leave.

"That rumor can be cleared up by asking your sister," Warrick said. "I suggest you do that."

"And we will ask her, but first we want to ask with Saville directly."

A light scoff. "That's why we want his head."

"Warrick," the marquess said, "you know as well as I do that one rumor is all it takes to damn a woman as spoiled goods. There are several whispers of our sister about town. All with a thread back to Saville."

"Then you want him to take responsibility?" Warrick asked, and Field could just imagine him crossing his arms over his chest. "I cannot see what else you hope to gain from this."

"Clarity," the marquess replied. "While, our family connections are strong, and many would not dare speak ill of Theodosia, they have their limits. And I cannot control the narrative from a place of darkness. I also have a duty as the head of this family to make sure she's not been hurt or used in any way, but this engagement rumor needs to be addressed as soon as possible."

Well, they agreed on that score.

"Very well then, do you want me to inform Saville of your grievances, or will you wait for his return?"

Field bared his teeth in Warrick's direction. Why give them the bloody choice? Chase them off!

"Neither, but he can expect another visit soon."

"Of course."

The light thud of the men's footsteps leaving faded from the room, and Field motioned for Selena to crawl out from under the desk the moment they cleared his study. He followed her, muttering, "Damn Kings," as he stretched out his limbs.

Selena brushed a tendril of hair from her face. "Thank goodness they didn't suspect us. Lord, I have newfound sympathy for Theodosia." She turned to him. "They warned you to stay away from their sister. Are you going to listen?"

Listen? Field scoffed. "Who the hell are they to tell me what to do?" His gaze fell on the large portrait of himself leaning against the wall off to left. He had moved the painting from the drawing room to his study after it had been mutilated by his sister and her friend. Lady Theodosia was apparently responsible for the rouge on his cheeks and coloring his eyes black. They turned him into a damn she-devil!

Warrick strode over. "Cavendish is the best art restorer in London."

He scowled. Best or not, could it even be repaired at this point? What remarkable feat that the King pups hadn't commented on the masterpiece. But then, perhaps they couldn't see much else except their own anger. They were looking for answers. Well, so was he. He was going to hunt that little minx down and demand restitution.

"I'm leaving on the hour," Field announced.

"I don't think that is a wise choice," Warrick murmured, arching a brow.

Field glanced at his friend, his scowl deepening. "Are you warning me away too?"

"That's not what Warrick meant," Selena spoke up. "I have the same concern as well. Perhaps it is best to keep your distance from Lady Theodosia."

"Why?" Field demanded. "What concern, pray tell, do you have?"

She shrugged. "I'm just afraid this time you might really die."

Field's face contorted. "Are you referring to the time you failed to kill me in a duel?"

"You know I am a perfect shot," Selena said.

"So, you keep saying," Field muttered.

"And so are her brothers," Selena said pointedly. "Why are you so dead set on chasing Theodosia down?" she asked.

"Retribution." Field sent his sister a heated look. "You should know all about that, should you not?"

" That is your reason?"

Field never claimed to be perfect. Or forgiving.

"We are just worried," Warrick said, settling an arm over Selena's shoulder and pulling her close. "Are you sure retribution is the only reason you are giving chase? The Kings won't hold back if you make a mistake."

Mistake?

Everything leading up to this damn point had been mistake after mistake. He couldn't go back in time and change the list of heiresses back to its original form, though he had tried to make amends, atone for his mistakes by having them protect as many heiresses as they could. But it seemed that was just another deuced mistake. In the grand scheme, he couldn't see that following her now could even make his list of mistakes.

"The chit cut up my waistcoats and helped you turn me into a devil. Would you not demand payment? And what is this engagement rumor? I don't agree with King on many things, but I must address this rumor." And he couldn't do that without her.

His friend's arched brow inched a fraction higher, but Field refused to read into what that slight lift might mean.

He simply wanted answers.

There was no other reason he was chasing that minx across the country.

No other reason at all. Definitely not proving to her, or himself, that he was not the weed she claimed him to be.