Chapter 1

October 1812

The air was thick with the scent of illness, pervaded with the heavy fragrance of liniments and medical concoctions. The curtains had been closed, lest a draft should find its way into the sickbed and its frail occupant.

Alice had become so familiar with the pervasive atmosphere of her father's bedchamber that her mother had often complained that the scent of medicine had begun to stick to her clothes. It was with this same familiarity that she now approached her father's bed.

The Marquess of Brandon had once been an impressive figure in her life. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest to see him now reduced to a fragile invalid dwarfed by his enormous four-poster bed.

"Papa," she called out to him gently. "Papa, it is I, Alice. I have come."

"Alice…"

The sound was soft, almost a whisper, followed by a fit of hacking coughs. Alice immediately hastened to her father's side and handed him a glass of water.

The Marquess took a few sips before he sighed and lay back on the pillows that had been used to prop him up.

"My dear child, where have you been?" he asked her.

She smiled tremulously at him. "You already know where."

He nodded. "The library."

"Yes, Papa, the library."

Her father had always known that the library was her favorite place, second only to her rooms. Yet, he had always asked her where she was, as if he meant to learn more about her. As if there was anything of note to her day beyond the mundane.

"My dear girl," the Marquess rasped, his eyes bright with affection for his eldest daughter, "I am afraid that your papa cannot wait any longer."

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she reached out to clasp his hand. That strong hand that had held her up countless times as a child was now so frail and bony, as if a single harsh squeeze would shatter the fragile bones and ligaments under the paper-thin skin.

"Do not talk like that, Papa," she told him softly. "You still have many more years ahead of you."

He shook his head. "Let us not delude ourselves further, Alice. This body of mine can hardly sustain me anymore. I only wish for you and your sister to be settled before I pass."

She hung her head at his words. "It is only the autumn wind, Papa. You will get better come spring…"

"You must marry, Alice," her father cut in through her paltry excuses. "For your sake and your sister's. While I delighted in your antics, I cannot indulge them any longer."

Her heart sank at his words. Her dear, kind Papa had always—as he had just said—indulged her hobbies. She supposed she should be grateful—most fathers in the ton would not countenance such frivolity in their daughters.

As a well-bred young lady—the daughter of a marquess at that—she was expected to fulfill her duty to her family and marry. To secure the necessary connections that would secure their position amongst their peers by securing a good match.

In all honesty, the Marquess had already been quite patient with her. She was now in her third Season and without any prospects at all. Even her own Mama had been fretting for most of the summer.

Why must I marry?Alice wanted to cry out. Why must Society force women into such a dreadful thing as the marriage mart, expecting them to be docile creatures while the men did as they pleased?

She wanted to rebel against her father's charge, but she knew deep down in her heart that this was the sad reality for a young lady of the ton.

And as it turned out, her father had run out of patience. He could not wait any longer.

"All right," she conceded. "I shall endeavor to find a suitor this Season."

The Marquess shook his head sadly. "I am afraid I cannot wait that long, Alice. You a have a week to find yourself a husband of your choice, or I shall have you betrothed to one of my own choosing."

"A week?" Alice gasped in shock. "Papa, how could I ever find a husband in that amount of time?"

Even the most renowned beauties took at least a fortnight to secure an offer. How much longer would it take for someone like herself! She was no great beauty, and while she excelled at dancing, she was equally as bad at music. Her dismal skills at the pianoforte had become something of a joke amongst the ton.

And now, her father meant for her to secure a match within a week? He had to know that was impossible!

But looking at her father, as frail as he had become, she was all too familiar with that steely resolve in his blue-gray eyes.

"A week then," she murmured, hanging her head. She lovingly traced the blue veins that were now so prominent on his frail hand. "I shall secure an offer within a week. If not, then I shall rely on you to select a kind husband for me."

"That's my brave girl." Her father smiled at her before a fit of coughing wracked his thin frame once more.

She pressed her lips into a grim smile. "I shall not fail you, Papa."

"I know you will not, dearest. Now that we have dispensed with that, I think I shall rest," he rasped, giving her hand another squeeze with none of the strength he possessed just a year ago. "Let your mother know that whatever you require, you may have it." He smiled at her fondly. "I look forward to your good news, my dear."

"You shall have it within the week, Papa," she assured him.

She pressed a soft kiss to his papery cheek and quietly left him to rest. Once she had closed the door behind her, she leaned against it and closed her eyes.

There was nothing like illness to remind a man of his mortality. When her papa fell ill early that spring, they had thought that he would recover in no time, as he always did.

Now, it was not the case.

Her father was right—they were all running out of time, and Alice, as much as she hated to admit it, had probably squandered most of it herself.

Securing a good match for herself would significantly buoy her father's spirits as well as pave the way for her sister.

The only question was, where was she supposed to find this fabled man that she could tolerate being married to?

* * *

Alice slotted the book onto the shelf with an expression that was a curious mix of irritation and desperation. She had tried reading it for the better part of an hour and gleaned nothing at all from its pages, speaking to her great distraction ever since her father made his demand that morning.

"So, if I am to understand all of this, you must find a suitor and have him ask for your hand in marriage, or the Marquess will select someone for you?" Her best friend, Scarlett, wrinkled her nose. "That does seem worrying."

"Tell me all about it!" Alice groaned, leaning her forehead against the bookshelf in abject misery. "If I cannot find a man tolerable enough to marry in two years, how will I ever find one within the week?"

"That does sound absolutely Herculean," Alice's younger sister, Phoebe, remarked. "And quite unusual for Papa, if I may say so myself."

The three of them—Alice, Phoebe, and Scarlet—were in the library of Brandon Estate, discussing Alice's current dilemma.

"Well, Mama tells me that the Viscount Wiltshire has just entered the marriage mart," Scarlett supplied helpfully. "And according to her, he is possessed of one of the finest estates in all of England, has a rather impressive income, and is exceedingly handsome to boot."

Alice glanced at her best friend warily. "And why is it that you have not set your sights on him yet if he is as wonderful as you claim him to be?"

The redhead simply smiled sheepishly. "I find him dreadfully boring, you know. Oh, he is a wonderful man, I am sure, and he will make someone very happy, but?—"

"And there is always a but."

"But he is just not who I see myself with a decade down the line." She gave a little shudder. "I daresay he would drive me mad within a month. A fortnight, even!"

Ever since she had made her bow three years ago, Scarlett had been the most sought-after young lady in all of London. Her residence in Grosvenor Square had suitors lining up all the way down the street, and every mama bewailed the fact that her daughter could not be half as popular as her.

Fortunately for most of the marriage-minded young ladies of the ton, Scarlett possessed no desire to marry at all and was glad to entertain suitors but never encourage them—or their delusions, as she liked to call them.

Alice had no doubt that if her best friend was ever of the mind to marry, she would be most likely betrothed within a week.

"Well, it is absolutely impossible for me," she sighed in resignation. "I just hope that whoever Papa selects is someone I can tolerate for the rest of the foreseeable future…"

The three young ladies collectively sighed, but none of them felt the dread more than Alice did.

"Well, you know what that means, then." Scarlett pursed her lips. "That means that you have one week—exactly one week only—to do everything that you want. To be all that you want before you turn into a boring Society Lady."

Alice's brow furrowed. Her best friend was right. As soon as she married, she would not be able to guarantee that her husband would find her "antics" as charming as her beloved Papa did. No gentleman would allow his lady wife to gallivant about, indulging in her hobbies, unless those hobbies of hers benefited him socially at the very least.

"So… what are you going to do about it, Alice?" Phoebe asked her softly, her eyes wide. "I do hope you will not do anything too wild?—"

"There is one thing I have always wanted."

Both her younger sister and her best friend turned towards her in surprise.

A mischievous smile bloomed on Scarlett's beautiful face. "Well now, do tell us all about it, dear! Is it something absolutely scandalous?"

"You could say that."

The redhead gleefully clapped her hands together. "Now, you have my curiosity all piqued. What is this scandalous thing you want to do?"

Phoebe, however, did not look too convinced that this was something they should be considering, let alone discussing it out loud.

"There is this book…"

"Another book?" Scarlett rolled her eyes dramatically. "Why did I ever think it could be anything other than a book?"

"A rather rare and forbidden book."

"Now, this gets interesting! Why did you not say that in the first place?"

Alice blushed a little. "Well, it is a French book, and you might have an idea how the French can be so… so…"

She supposed she did not need to elaborate for her best friend.

Scarlett looked at her pointedly. "But, darling," she reminded her, "you do not speak French. Not well enough to read an entire book of it."

"But there is a private translation," Alice insisted. "I heard some gentlemen whispering about it in Lady Milton's ball!"

"But who would possess such a scandalous book?" Phoebe exclaimed, evidently scandalized.

Alice took a deep breath. The next words left her mouth in a rush.

"The Duke of Thorns."

"The Duke of Thorns?" Scarlett shrieked. "Are you talking about borrowing a scandalous book from the Duke of Blackthorn?"

Alice nodded. "I remember hearing Mama and Lady Haversham talking about it just before my first Season. They were absolutely scandalized, I tell you. They say…" She dropped her voice and looked around to make sure nobody else was eavesdropping. "They say he came across it during his Grand Tour and had successfully translated it. Of course, I had thought that it was mere gossip, but then I heard Lord Crandall talking about it with the others."

The two other young ladies fell silent. Scarlett, in particular, was looking at her as if she could not believe what she had just heard.

"Alice," she said slowly, "we are talking about the Duke of Thorns—the man is a recluse, and that is just the beginning of it! There are all sorts of sordid rumors about him. Why, he is even part of that pack of Wolves that Alexander warned us about!"

"Wolves?" Phoebe gasped and shuddered. "Why are they called that? Do they eat people?"

"Oh, absolutely." Scarlett grinned mischievously. "Rumor has it that they absolutely love devouring young maidens whole."

Phoebe turned pale, although Alice doubted that her younger sister actually understood the insinuation.

Instead, she just laughed and reached out to reassuringly clasp her younger sister's hand. "Scarlett is just teasing you, my dear. They are not beasts at all—just men with a certain reputation."

"That is true!" The redhead laughed. "They are all rogues, the lot of them—well, the three of them who are still in the social scene, anyway. No young lady's reputation is safe with any one of those Wolves, so you had best stay away from them as well, my dear."

Phoebe nodded her head and bit her lower lip. "Now that you put it that way, it does make sense that only a scoundrel like that would possess such an obscene book…" She turned towards her older sister. "The Duke of Thorns sounds like a horribly dangerous person, Alice. I hope you would not get involved with a man like that at all."

Alice just nodded, but her sister's words sparked something in her.

Danger. Perhaps that is what she had been missing. Why she had all but forsaken her usual hobbies.

Her latest forays simply did not hold the same thrill that they once did.

She needed an element of danger in her life. One great adventure she could embark on. A daring tale that she would be able to tell her grandchildren when she had become nothing more than a boring Society Lady as Scarlett had feared.

A slow smile spread across her lips. "I think I know exactly what to do this weekend."

"Oh no, Alice, you can't! You absolutely cannot be thinking of getting so close to that horrid Duke of Thorns!" Phoebe exclaimed.

"Phoebe is right." For once, Scarlett looked serious. "He might not even be part of the Wolves anymore, but there is still something about him. They are still talking about the fire in Blackthorn Estate from five years ago. No one truly knows what he is capable of?—"

But Alice only cut off her best friend's tirade with a raised hand.

"Well, man or monster, no one is going to stand between me and a rare book!" she declared.

Even if that man is probably the most enigmatic member of the Wolves.