Prologue

Diana

"What is the Marquess' ailment?" That was the one question Diana had not had answered before she'd accepted her new position. Normally, she insisted on knowing, but Miss Stuart, the Marquess' niece, had convinced her with both a large sum of money and an urgency for secrecy that spoke of a delicate situation. Diana tried to picture the Marquess of Camden in her head, but she did not think she'd ever seen the man.

She'd chosen to take up a profession rather than having her debut—her father had been knighted, but unfortunately, that knighthood did not come with land, nor did it come with the kind of income that would allow him to bring out five daughters into Society. Without the lineage most of the ton looked for and tiny dowries besides, the gentlemen were hardly scrambling to make their acquaintance.

Still, her two older sisters had managed to make good matches. Susannah, her beautiful eldest sister, had found a Scottish baron who had fallen head over heels for her and did not mind that she was the daughter of a mere knight. Next had been Juliana; her soft-spoken sweetness had caught the attention of the second son of Baron Crommey. As a second son, he'd had more leeway in choosing his bride.

Then there was Diana. Too smart for her own good, too outspoken to charm a gentleman, with a prickly demeanor, and not nearly beautiful enough to make up for the combination. When she'd announced she wanted to be a nurse, her parents had been both appalled and relieved. They'd supported her, though, and eventually, she'd worked her way up to caring for members of the society she'd eschewed marrying into.

So, while she was familiar with many of them, she'd never been formally introduced to the crowd, and there were certain members whose paths she'd never crossed. She was fairly certain the Marquess of Camden was one of them. Not that she attended social events, like balls and high teas, but she had occasionally been added to a dinner party to help round out the numbers when an employer needed it.

She had not met Miss Stuart before, either; she was sure of it. The stunning combination of raven-wing hair and shining green eyes would be hard to forget.

Rather than answering Diana's question, Miss Rutherford strode over to the doorway of the parlor and gestured for Diana to precede her. Very well, then. Diana had just arrived at the house, and she'd found that quite a few of her clients preferred to talk over tea and biscuits. She would rather get straight to her business, but she'd long ago accepted that part of that was making the family feel at ease.

"Stims will take care of your bags," Miss Stuart said when Diana started to bend to pick them up. From the hallway, a tall man came forward, and Diana started. She had not seen him standing there, despite his size. He moved completely silently. While he was hardly the first unobtrusive butler she'd met, he was certainly the quietest.

"Thank you," she said gratefully. Another lesson she had learned was not to assume where a client might place her in their household. Some of them put her in with the other servants, others treated her more like a governess, and a very few as though she was an honored guest. Diana was happy to adapt to all of them, though she preferred the latter two, as those who were haughty with her were also the most likely to fight her methods. No matter that she was there to help them get well.

The parlor was beautifully decorated, flavored with the subtle taste of wealth. The light colors and delicately carved furniture declared it a woman's domain. Miss Stuart went to the cream-colored couch and sat down, gesturing for Diana to take one of the seats across from her.

"Please sit, Miss Rutherford." She said ‘please,' but it was spoken as a command. Also unmarried, though nearly a decade younger than Diana, which meant by Society's standards it was not too late for her, Miss Stuart's composure and confidence rivaled the matrons who ran the ton. If Diana had met her on the street, she would have assumed Miss Stuart was one of them.

Very well, then. That was how she would treat the younger woman. Those matrons respected strength of will and competence.

"Thank you," she said again, taking her seat as the door to the parlor opened, and a maid came in with a tea tray. By silent agreement, she and Miss Stuart waited to speak again until after the maid had left.

"Do you take it with sugar?" Miss Stuart asked.

"Yes, please, and cream."

Miss Stuart picked up the teapot and poured the first cup with a steady hand as she spoke.

"Last week, my uncle was shot."

Diana froze, her hands outstretched to take the teacup, but her fingers were suddenly trembling. Surely, she could not have heard Miss Stuart correctly. Or perhaps the younger woman was pulling her leg.

But no. Miss Stuart was not the type. And she was still holding the teacup as steady as her emerald gaze on Diana. It was caught between them, both of their fingers touching it, but if Miss Stuart had released it, Diana would have dropped it to the floor in shock.

A marquess had been shot? The sheer lack of gossip about such a matter was what made it so unbelievable. Both below and above stairs ran on gossip in ton households, which meant Diana was kept well abreast of all of it by one or the other and often both.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she suddenly understood why Miss Stuart had wanted tea before beginning the discussion. She firmed her grip on the saucer, taking it from Miss Stuart, who released it quickly, now that she knew Diana was not going to drop it, and began pouring a cup for herself.

"I had not heard." It came out sounding far more cynical than she'd intended, almost accusatory, but she truly was struggling to understand how such an amazing event could be kept a secret. They must have the most loyal household servants in the whole of England. To her surprise, Miss Stuart met her disbelieving statement with an enigmatic smile.

"Good." Miss Stuart's smile faded. "What I am going to tell you now is a matter of utmost secrecy. I approached you for a multitude of reasons. Firstly, your reputation for utmost discretion. No matter who you have been employed by, no matter how you were treated, you have never divulged anything you learned during or after your time being employed."

Diana blinked. She had not realized she had such a stellar reputation, though, of course, it was what she had tried to build. Being a woman, her job was already more difficult than any doctor's, as employers trusted her less and often underestimated or even discounted her intelligence. She had worked hard to overcome the assumptions that were made about her.

"Thank you. I appreciate hearing that." She took a sip of her tea, hoping it would settle the nerves in her stomach. This was unlike any interview she'd had with a family member before, and it was causing a sense of disquiet, as though something terrible was on the horizon.

Miss Stuart nodded in acknowledgment.

"The second reason I chose you is because you're a woman." The smile returned to Miss Stuart's face at Diana's start of surprise. She had been chosen before because she was a woman, always to tend to another woman or a girl child. Her gender did not normally factor in when her patient was a man, especially a gentleman. Diana frowned, but Miss Stuart was already continuing, and her next words eased Diana's sudden concerns.

"My uncle is fighting his recovery every step of the way, and there is not a single man he will listen to. He'll hear my cousins out, then do exactly as he pleases. Every doctor we've brought in has left within a day. He is more polite to the maids and our housekeeper, but his force of personality is such that they end up bowled over by his demands. The only person he will listen to is me, but I cannot spend all my time forcing him to behave. His manners will not allow him to chase off a woman in the same way he did the doctors, but he needs one who will be able to be by his side in a way I currently cannot."

Diana saw where this was going. The other part of her reputation. She did not put up with nonsense from patients, and difficult personalities were her specialty. Personally, she thought it was just easier for some of her patients to accede to a stranger rather than relinquishing their power to someone they knew, and as long as she put her foot down and demonstrated that she was not going to be chased off, they all eventually bowed to her authority.

"I have already told you a secret," Miss Stuart continued, taking a sip of tea to wet her lips. Her expression was becoming grim again, the look in her eyes hardening like the emerald stones they resembled.

Diana was not surprised she was the only one who managed to control her uncle—she saw a lot of herself in Miss Stuart. Like recognized like, after all.

"As you now realize, the ton does not know my uncle has been shot. The reason they do not know is it is a matter of secrecy to the Crown. This is your chance to step away now. My uncle was injured during an assassination attempt. It is possible you will be in danger as well if you choose to take this position. Our last butler was killed…"

Miss Stuart paused, taking in a deep breath as sudden wetness gleamed in her eyes. Astonished, Diana realized she was grieving. There were very few households who would mourn the death of a servant. Quite a few of them saw their servants similarly to their clothing—items to be used and discarded when they were no longer useful.

That Miss Stuart obviously cared was only another point in her favor, though hearing it was an assassination attempt on the Marquess was a point against.

"Our last butler was killed during the attempt on my uncle." Miss Stuart's lips firmed as she leveled her gaze at Diana. "If you choose to take this position, I will be able to tell you more, but before I go on, I need you to understand the gravity of the situation. We have taken measures to ensure the entire household's safety, but nothing in life is ever certain. Do you still wish to continue?"

Goodness. This was the most unusual position she'd ever been put in.

Logic dictated that she should remove herself from the situation immediately. Assassination attempts? Secrecy to the Crown? Yet, her heart was racing. This was different. It was exciting. She would know secrets that others did not. Difficult patients were something she was used to; this sounded like another thing altogether.

"It is a lot to take in," Miss Stuart said. "If you need more time to think about it?—"

"Yes, I wish to continue," Diana interrupted. She wanted to know more.

"Very well then." Miss Stuart put down her teacup and picked up the Bible that was sitting on the edge of the table. Diana had not given it a second glance when she'd sat down. Her eyebrows raised up in surprise as Miss Stuart held it out in front of her. "What I am going to tell you next, you can never reveal. You are going to swear it on the Bible, though I will tell you that the far more immediate threat is being branded a traitor to the Crown if you suddenly develop loose lips."

Diana stared at the Bible. She had already made her decision and knew that in her heart of hearts. Whatever this incredible secret was, she had to know.

By the time Miss Stuart had finished her accounting of her uncle's injury, the tea was cold, Diana's head was spinning, and they were no longer Miss Rutherford and Miss Stuart to each other—they were Diana and Evie.

The Marquess of Camden was the spymaster to the Crown.

His was only the latest assassination attempt by someone who knew his identity.

There had also been an attempt on the Duke of York's life.

"Are you ready to meet your patient?" Evie asked, getting to her feet.

Was she ready to meet her patient? Diana was not sure she was ready for anything at this point. She nodded her head, though. It was her job, after all. The thought of her job steadied her. Everything that was new and exciting, and perhaps a little frightening, was only a possibility. Tending to a patient was something she knew how to do.

As Evie led her down the hallway, a door at the end of it opened and a rather harried-looking maid emerged, holding a tray. She appeared to have tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Do not worry," Evie murmured. "Beth cries over everything. It's why I assigned her to give my uncle his meals. He hates it when he makes a woman cry, so he's nicer to her than the rest of us, but he must be in a mood today."

Well, crying was not in Diana's repertoire, but she took note of Evie's machinations and the information for the future.

"Miss." Beth sniffled as they approached, casting a curious glance at Diana and bobbing a curtsy, though she kept a steady hand on the tray despite her tears. "I'm sorry, but he's out of sorts today. He would not eat anything but his pudding, no matter how I begged."

Indeed, the tray was full of bland but nutritious food, the sort one might feed a man recovering from a severe injury, and there were only a few crumbs left of what looked to have been dessert.

"That's alright, Beth," Evie said soothingly, her entire demeanor changing as she comforted the watery maid, taking the tray from her. "Thank you for your assistance. This is Miss Rutherford. She's going to be handling my uncle from now on."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, miss," Beth said, her expression lighting up with relief as she beamed at Diana, wringing her hands in her apron before reaching up to dash the tears from her eyes. "The whole household will be in your debt."

Before Diana could respond, Beth scurried past them, clearly eager to get away from the room—and possibly to spread the news to the rest of the household that they no longer had to deal with the irascible Marquess. Other than her tears, however, she did not seem any worse for the wear.

Diana was not entirely sure what she expected when she met the Marquess. She knew his age and now his temper, and Evie had spoken of him in a frustrated but resigned fashion, describing his inability to accept his age and injuries. Diana found herself picturing an irascible old man. One far too used to getting his own way. However, he was also the spymaster to the Crown, so clearly, his mind was sharp. She imagined he was wiry, small even, like a spider sitting in the center of his web.

She could not have been more incorrect.

The moment Evie opened the door and led Diana into the Marquess' bedroom, Diana was overwhelmed by the sense of presence emanating from the figure in the bed. Despite the dimness of the room, with its drawn curtains that required candlelight to see, no one walking in the door would miss seeing him where he was propped up against the pillows. No wonder the maids and the housekeeper were having trouble managing him. He had even more confidence and self-assuredness than Evie, which was saying something.

This was no elderly, wiry spider at the center of a web.

His broad shoulders and dark glare made him look more like a Roman centurion, ready to spring forth and do battle… if only he was not so severely injured. He took her breath away in a manner she was unused to, a reaction she was going to need to firmly squash if he was going to be under her care.

"I am not eating that slop," he admonished Evie by way of greeting, ignoring Diana's presence altogether, though she did not make the mistake of thinking he had not seen her. This man saw everything. She got the distinct feeling she had been categorized as not a threat, at least for now, so he had prioritized haranguing his niece over a formal introduction. Diana did not mind, as it gave her a moment to catch her bearings. "I need something substantial. Something with flavor. Get that tray out of here, and do not bring it back."

"Like a cake, perhaps?" Evie asked dryly, walking forward with the tray, clearly undeterred by his stern tone. Diana had to commend her bravery—she also was taking mental notes on what she would have to put up with. Though from the way Evie had spoken, the Marquess was likely to be less rude to someone who was not an immediate family member, Beth's tears notwithstanding. "You know you are supposed to eat the dessert last, do you not?"

"Life is uncertain. What if I choked on that slop and missed dessert?" He shook his head decisively. Another personage might have sounded petulant with such utterances, but when he said it, he was utterly reasonable and totally assured in his rightness. It was rather impressive, though Diana was determined not to be impressed. "I will not risk it."

The large four-poster bed he lay in was richly adorned with dark green velvet curtains drawn back and tied with gold cord. The sturdy, ornately carved bedframe was even more imposing than the rest of the furniture in the room, though all of it matched.

There were several chairs on either side of his bed, obviously places for visitors—or a maid assigned to feed him—to sit. The chairs had obviously been brought in from other rooms, as they were the only unmatching furniture.

"You are going to eat your supper." Evie turned slightly to indicate Diana, which allowed her to see Evie's brilliant smile. "Miss Rutherford is here to take care of that."

The Marquess narrowed his eyes at Evie.

"She's fired."

"She is not."

"She cannot stay here. It is not safe."

"I have fully informed her of the situation and the possible dangers, and she has agreed to stay, anyway."

The Marquess puffed up before their eyes, righteous anger filling him. He was utterly menacing, despite being injured and bedridden, and Diana had no doubt this was the version of himself that had thrown the doctors and footmen out on their ears. There was even a part of her that quailed.

But he was her patient.

"What do you mean, she has been fully informed? I did not authorize that!"

"Excuse me, Evie," Diana said serenely, coming forward to take the tray from her. "I believe this is what you hired me for." She had the satisfaction of watching the Marquess' jaw drop open in shock that she was not running from the room. Instead, she sat down beside him, trying to ignore the way her heart fluttered at his nearness.

Lingering fear, probably. He really had been quite intimidating before she'd caused him to gape like a fish. Though even with his mouth dropped open, he was far too attractive. Not that she was noticing. At least, she was endeavoring not to note his broad shoulders and chest, the way his salt and pepper hair swept over his brow, and the strong lines of his face. None of that was important.

"Thank you, Evie," she said, flashing her new employer a smile. Evie beamed back at her, clearly pleased by the turn of events. Diana gave her a nod before turning back to the Marquess. "Now, my lord, are you going to feed yourself, or do you need me to do it for you?"