Chapter 1

Chapter One

“T his is Miss Hattigan?” They were the only words Michael could manage through his shock.

“That’s her.” The solicitor cleared his throat nervously.

“Miss Annabelle Hattigan?”

“Yes, sir— my lord. I apologize. Living here, one is not accustomed to…”

The man’s words faded away as Michael gazed down at the young girl asleep in the crib. Ringlets of dark hair fanned out around her head and across her face, her thumb was resting limply in her open mouth, and her knees were tucked up under her chest pushing her little bottom into the air. He pressed the heels of his hands harshly against his forehead, a disbelieving groan escaping him. How in god’s name had he agreed to marry a toddler?

He’d known the girl was not yet of age, her father had said as much in his letter, but he’d thought perhaps she was fifteen. And now her father was dead, which made her his responsibility. Jesus, what had he gotten himself into?

After a few minutes, Michael left the nursery and found Carlyle in Mr. Hattigan’s study. Well, technically, it was his study now.

“Drink?” The man held out a glass of amber liquid which Michael gladly took. Just as it reached his lips, however, he stopped. He lowered the glass slowly and set it on the desk.

“I probably shouldn’t, actually. Too much drink is undoubtedly what landed me in this mess. And what a fine mess it is.” He shook his head and wandered toward the fireplace.

“You don’t mean to say you were unaware of the girl’s age?”

Michael turned and raised a brow at the solicitor. “I may have made a few bad decisions in my life, but knowingly betrothing myself to a three-year-old child was not one of them.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you—” The man paused, and as understanding of his accusation dawned, Michael’s blood boiled. The man thought him capable of inappropriate relations with a child? His hands balled themselves into fists, but he spoke quietly.

“You did not mean to imply what, exactly?”

“Well, Mr. Hattigan made no secret of the fact that he was dying. I just assumed whoever had signed the contract knew they would soon have full control of the child to do with as they pleased.”

Michael crossed the room in three strides. In the man’s haste to get away, the glass tumbled from his hand, spilling the rest of its contents over the carpet. Michael grabbed the lapels of his coat and backed him forcefully against the desk. His own glass and an inkwell were jarred from its surface, adding their contributions to the mess on the rug. “How dare you accuse me of such lecherous depravity! She is barely more than a baby!”

To Michael’s surprise, the man began to smile.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I mean no offense. It was clear from your reaction to seeing her, that you’d no idea of the girl’s age, but I had to be sure.”

“You were testing me?” Michael slowly let go of the man’s lapels and took a step back, his anger still barely contained.

“Mr. Hattigan assured me you were a good man, but little Miss Hattigan is precious to me… to all of us, you see.”

“Mr. Hattigan and I had never met. How could he possibly have known anything of my character?”

“Trust me, my lord, the history of your family, finances, health, and character were all thoroughly scrutinized before your name was added to the list.”

“The list?” Of course there must have been others. Michael certainly wasn’t special. He’d only recently inherited the title and spent most of his time deep in his cups. For some reason, this poor girl’s father had tied her to him for the rest of her life.

“Does that mean I wasn’t his first choice?” Perhaps he was the only man on the list foolish enough to say yes.

“I’m afraid I’m not privy to that information, my lord.”

Michael just shook his head. What did it matter? He had already spent most of the first installment making much needed repairs to his estate, and even now, had plans for the next. A spate of bad luck with death taxes, catastrophes, and swindlers, topped off by a grandfather who had lived to gamble, even if he always lost, had left the earldom in tatters.

He would have to marry and produce an heir eventually. This way, the match was already decided, with none of the usual fuss, and he had the next fifteen years to enjoy his life before he’d actually be shackled to her. For now, he would board the next boat back to England and forget about his future wife until she was old enough to actually be his wife.

* * *

Fifteen Years Later

“Isaac!” Belle ran across the field and threw herself into his arms. He laughed and swung her around.

Sunday was the only day of the week she could actually see him during the day, and even then, it had to wait until after church. The rest of the week, he couldn’t be seen with her while he was supposed to be working. She did sometimes sneak out at night to see him, but Lizzie didn’t like that very much. Not that she would actually punish her, since technically she was her lady’s maid, but she was the closest thing Belle had ever had to a mother.

Lizzie didn’t need to worry, though. Isaac would never do anything improper with her. She’d tried to kiss him one time a year ago, and he’d made it very clear that she was not to do that again. He said it was like kissing his little sister.

“How’s your Sunday, Bells?”

“Better, now that I get to spend time with you. Although Lizzie says I only have an hour. Apparently, we have a visitor coming this evening. I don’t know who would possibly be coming to visit me.”

He shrugged. “Let’s just enjoy the sunshine for an hour then, and next time you can tell me all about this mystery visitor.”

Two hours later, Belle stood in front of her mirror as Lizzie helped her to dress after having a bath. “Why must I dress for dinner?” Something strange was afoot. Belle could feel it in the air. All of the servants had been acting a bit strangely, and the house was currently dusted, waxed, and buffed like she’d never seen it before.

“I have told you, Belle, you have a guest visiting. Now hold still.” She settled Belle’s corset into place and began pulling it tight.

Belle let out a sigh. “Does it have to be so bloody tight?” At those words, her backside was met with a hard swat.

“Ouch!” She met Lizzie’s disapproving eyes in the mirror. For her entire life, Belle had largely been allowed to do or say whatever she pleased without much in the way of consequences, so that swat confirmed that something was definitely afoot.

“Can you at least try to behave with a modicum of propriety?” The laces were given one final tug and a moment later, Belle was turned around to face her maid.

The disappointment in Lizzie’s eyes did wither her stubbornness a bit. “I’m sorry.”

She was rewarded with an understanding smile. “Now listen.” Lizzie placed her hands comfortingly on Belle’s shoulders. “I know there has been a lot of fuss going on in the house and you have many questions about this mysterious visitor. Unfortunately, I can’t answer most of them, so you’ll just have to trust me. Can you do that?”

Belle nodded, but she wanted to rail and refuse to cooperate. Why were they keeping secrets from her?

“His name is Lord Dalinridge. He is a very important visitor, so you need to be on your best behavior.”

Belle let out a long sigh as she slipped her arms into the sleeves of her bodice. It had been so long since she’d last dressed properly for dinner, she’d forgotten just what a hassle it was. Mr. Carlyle, her father’s solicitor, was one of the only people who ever dined with her, so there was simply no point most of the time. Who was this man? Why did she have to dine with him? And most importantly, why was the staff being so tight-lipped about him?

“Mr. Carlyle will wish to speak to Lord Dalinridge when he arrives, so I will come to collect you when he’s ready to make your introduction.” Belle was pulled from her thoughts as Lizzie stepped back to look her over. She’d been so lost in her own mind, she hadn’t realized Lizzie had finished with her.

“Did you hear me, Belle?” She nodded, and after giving her another glance from head to toe, Lizzie left her.

Mr. Carlyle was coming as well? She hadn’t realized that. His presence would at least make the evening bearable. She crossed to the window, which overlooked the drive. The servants all stood in a line. Brodwell was just giving them a final inspection when a carriage came into view. Belle folded her arms with a huff. This was ridiculous. Why was she nervous?

Mr. Carlyle stepped down from the carriage and greeted Brodwell with a nod, then smiled brightly up at her. His hat tumbled from his grasp as he waved, and Belle giggled as he chased after it. In his first three attempts, he only kicked it further away before he finally managed to secure it. He turned and gave her a deep bow and then winked up at her before turning back to the servants. Mr. Carlyle had always been kind to her, always bringing her sweets and making her laugh. Surely, he wouldn’t allow anyone to visit if he had any misgivings about them.

A second carriage made its way up the long drive, and her stomach fluttered with nerves. Belle pushed her window open slightly in hopes of hearing any conversation that might be had below. The crunch of gravel grew quiet as the carriage came to a halt at the front of the house. Belle knew nothing of the man within, except his name. Lord Dalinridge. She watched with bated breath as the door was pulled open. What kind of man was he? An elderly cripple? A young coxcomb come to intimidate them all with his title?

Neither description could have been further from the truth.

A tall, elegantly dressed man stepped gracefully down. His tawny gold hair, tied neatly at his nape, shone in the sunlight, and his wide grin was visible, even from Belle’s vantage point. His coat was perfectly tailored for his broad shoulders, and he carried himself with confidence and command.

“Ah, Carlyle, my good man!” He clapped Mr. Carlyle on the shoulder and shook his hand animatedly.

“So good to see you again, my lord!” Again?

Lord Dalinridge then turned to the butler. “Brodwell.” He shook his hand, as well, and gave him a nod.

“You’re looking very well, my lord.” Was that a smile? Brodwell had always reserved his smiles just for her. Belle was liking this man less and less with each passing minute. Obviously, most of the staff had met him before, and they treated him as if he were royalty.

Even Lizzie was no stranger to him. He took her hand and bowed over it. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Ingram.” What a way to behave with a servant. Belle rolled her eyes. So they all knew him, and yet none of them had ever mentioned him, even though apparently, he was someone important. Well she just wouldn’t have it. She would simply refuse to be introduced to this man until someone explained who he was and what the devil he was doing here.

He looked up then. She barely glimpsed his blue eyes before she whipped around and pressed her back firmly against the wall, her heart suddenly pounding inside her chest. Had he seen her spying?

Belle didn’t like him. She could feel in her bones that his presence meant something big was about to happen, and she wanted no part of it.

* * *

Michael caught just a glimpse of what must have been Miss Hattigan peering down from her window before she quickly ducked out of sight. Thank God she’d grown into a young woman, and his recurring nightmare of coming to wed her, only to discover she was still a child, had not come to pass. What must she be thinking about his arrival? This was sure to be an interesting night for them both. Nervousness was not something he was accustomed to feeling, but he certainly felt it now. His stomach fluttered and his palms were sweaty. Of all the things he’d managed to achieve in his life, why did he feel so unequipped to deal with this? He drew in a long breath and then followed Carlyle into the house.

Very little had changed in the house since his only other visit fifteen years before. Stepping into the study brought back the memory of that long ago night as clearly as if it were yesterday. But he wasn’t the same man he had been then. Back then, most of his nights, and days, had been spent deep in his cups and between the legs of one whore or another, his newly inherited estate crumbling and nearly in ruin. Since then, he’d restored the estate, given up the booze, and opened The Raven’s Den with his closest friends. The gaming hell, and all that came with it, gave him a sense of pride and purpose in his life he’d never had before, and undoubtedly helped him to stay sober. He could only hope the changes he’d made over the past decade and a half would allow him to provide her the life she deserved. After all, her father’s money had paid for it all.

“Barley water?” Carlyle held out a glass of the cloudy liquid.

Michael smiled and took the drink. “Thank you.” He’d been sure to request it ahead of time. At this point, he trusted himself enough that he hadn’t asked them to hide the liquor. After all, he was around spirits every night at his club now and didn’t succumb to temptation. But even still, he didn’t trust himself with easy access for long periods of time.

“How was your crossing?” Carlyle gestured toward the plush chairs in front of the fire.

“A bit rough, I’m afraid.” Michael settled himself and rested the glass on the arm of the chair. “I’m not terribly fond of boats on the best of days, and most of these days were definitely not the best.”

Carlyle grimaced. “I’m sorry to hear it, my lord.”

“Let’s just say I am not looking forward to the return journey.” He took a sip of his drink. The smooth liquid had grown to be a great comfort to him over the years. “But enough about me. Tell me about Miss Hattigan. What does she know about me?”

The man shrugged. “As you requested, we’ve not told her about you. She only knows you’re here for a visit, but not the purpose of it.”

Michael rubbed a hand over his face. “Hopefully it was the right decision. I really wanted her to enjoy her life as much as possible, without this betrothal hanging over her head the whole time.”

“Only time will tell, I suppose.”

“Do you have a copy of the contract for me?”

Carlyle nodded and set his glass on the side table. He crossed the room to the desk and returned with the paperwork. Michael glanced briefly over the pages, then folded them in thirds and tucked the packet into his breast pocket. He drained his glass and let out a long sigh.

“Well, no reason to put off the inevitable, I suppose. Wish me luck.”

As Michael stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting for Miss Hattigan to be fetched, he felt like an utter fool. You’d think the maid was bringing him a dragon that needed slaying, the way his stomach had suddenly lodged itself somewhere near his Adam's apple.

After a while, however, even that faded. He wasn’t made to wait very often, and quite frankly, he didn’t like it.

The maid reappeared. “My lord.” Her voice was soft, and she stared at her fidgeting hands as she spoke. “I’m afraid she’s refusing to come down.”

“She’s what?” He wasn’t sure whether to be angry, relieved, or even offended.

“Well, she’s not very happy about being summoned to greet you, whilst knowing almost nothing about you.” The maid swallowed nervously and glanced up at him. Her face was flushed and her eyes wide with worry.

He tried to reassure her with a smile. “What happened to the precious little innocent I met on my last visit? You haven’t raised her to behave like a brat, have you, Mrs. Ingram?” But before she could say a word, marching footsteps started down the stairs.

Michael was instantly enchanted by her beauty, even with her arms folded defiantly across her chest and her chin held high. She wasn’t delicate or pale. Her skin had been kissed by the sun, and freckles were sprinkled across her cheeks. Her folded arms only accentuated her substantial breasts, making it nearly impossible to tear his eyes away from them.

“What do you mean, on your last visit? I’ve never met you before.” She came to a halt two steps up and stared him straight in the eye. “And I am not behaving like a brat.”

“Miss Hattigan, I presume.” He gave her a polite bow.

Her maid quickly stepped forward to continue the introduction. “Belle, this is Lord Dalinridge.” Her green eyes simply continued to stare at him, until her maid nudged her firmly with her elbow. Annabelle glared at her, but in the end, gave him a slight nod.

“Shall we take a stroll?” He offered her his arm, but it took another push from her maid before she grudgingly accepted it.

Mr. Carlyle spoke up then. “The rear gardens are beautiful in autumn, my lord. I’m certain you’ll enjoy them.” Not another word was spoken as they all made their way, like a procession, through the house.

The door closed behind the two of them as they stepped out into the late afternoon sun. Annabelle stopped and turned back. She stared at the door, probably wondering why her maid hadn’t accompanied them. And with good reason. It wasn’t exactly appropriate for her to go wandering, unchaperoned, in the gardens with a strange man, but there was just no way around it. He had to speak to her alone.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

Annabelle whipped around, and for a moment, looked like a frightened lamb being led to slaughter. In an instant, however, the fear, or at least the appearance of it, was gone. She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. Perhaps he’d only imagined the fear because he felt like a predator. He was about to turn everything she knew on its ear, and there was nothing she could do to change that. Perhaps keeping their betrothal from her had not actually been the right decision, but there was no changing that now.

“Flowers or topiary?”

“Uh…” He blinked rapidly as he pulled his mind from the swirling thoughts inside his head and turned his gaze to where she was pointing. The two sections of the garden were separated by a line of tall trees. “Topiary,” he answered, gesturing to the path on the left.

The archway was only wide enough for one, so she went through first. He offered his arm again once inside, but she ignored him and turned her attention to the surroundings. There really was no need for a guided tour. The shapes were quite obvious and needed no explanation, but she gave it anyway.

“This one is a frog.” They stood for a moment to admire the shape before moving to the next one. “This one is a giraffe.” Other than all being animals, there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the assortment. It was an odd sort of garden, actually, and became only odder when they eventually reached the far end. There stood the largest of the figures, a mermaid and a unicorn. Presumably a joke he did not understand. Beyond them, however, was a gazebo. Finally, his prayers had been answered. Michael took a step toward the structure and held out his arm once more.

“We should probably head back. Lizzie will wonder where I’ve got to.” Before she could turn away, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Please, Miss Hattigan, I insist. There is something we must discuss before returning to the house.”

She furrowed her brow and looked back across the garden, but after a deep breath, she accepted his arm and allowed him to escort her into the gazebo.

“Have a seat.” Michael gestured toward one of the benches that ran along the walls of the gazebo. She lowered herself onto the bench, her back straight as an arrow and her jaw clearly clenched. Obviously, she wasn’t happy to be alone with a strange man. A part of him was pleased by that. She’d apparently been taught at least some of the rules of propriety. When he had left her fifteen years before, with but a house full of servants to raise her, he’d known there were no guarantees on what kind of woman she would become. Other than the little hiccup with her refusing to be introduced to him—and who could blame her really—she seemed perfectly acceptable. Intelligent enough, mostly polite, and quite easy on the eyes. Michael sat on the bench opposite her and pulled the packet of papers from his breast pocket.

He let out a long breath, trying to decide where to begin. He’d had more than fifteen years to prepare for this moment but had instead spent most of that time trying not to think about it.

“Fifteen years ago,” he began, “well nearly sixteen now, but that’s beside the point.” Michael cleared his throat. “When your father learned of his illness, he wanted to make sure that you would always be protected and looked after.”

“I have been very well cared for, Lord Dalinridge, but I fail to see how that concerns you.” Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Little did she know, it all concerned him. Even from halfway around the world, he was the one who had ensured she had a proper education and all the comforts she deserved. “I am glad to hear it, but your father also wanted to secure your future. He knew the day would come when you’d wish to have a family of your own.”

“Again, my lord, I fail to see how that concerns you.” She was growing agitated. She pressed a palm to her stomach, her chest rising and falling with each of her rapid breaths. He held out a hand to try and calm her, but she recoiled. Michael shook his head. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t bungle this.

“What you may not know is that your mother’s dying wish was for you to marry a man from her homeland. A man with a title. Your father went to great lengths, or so I’m told, to choose the man he thought would best suit you.”

“I don’t know to what you are referring, but I assure you, you are mistaken. How could you possibly know such a thing?” She shot to her feet and stared down her nose at him.

“Because your father chose me.” Michael seized the moment. He slid off the bench and onto his knee in front of her. He tucked the papers under his arm, pulled the ring out of his pocket and held it up for her to see. “Will you consent to be my wife, Annabelle?”

“You’re completely mad!” Her eyes were wide with horror.

Before he could even get to his feet, she gathered her skirts in her fists and sprinted from the gazebo. Michael watched as she ran all the way back to the house, not even stopping to look back. She burst through the door and was gone.

He had definitely bungled it.

Slowly, Michael got to his feet and returned the ring to his pocket before also making his way back to the house. By the time he got there, Mr. Carlyle was waiting for him, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“It didn’t go so well then?” he asked, clearly trying to hold back a chuckle.

“No.” The man’s smile was contagious, and Michael couldn’t help but laugh at himself, even if he did feel like a complete sod.

“Mrs. Ingram has gone up to have a talk with Belle. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, so to speak, she might have an easier time than you getting through to her. Let’s enjoy a drink or two, and then I’ll go up with you and we can all talk together.”