Prologue

PROLOGUE

June 1815

Almack's, London

L ady Annette Page spied her oldest-older brother near the door, hoping for a quick escape. She narrowed her eyes at him— look at me, look at me, you coward —and their gaze connected from across the room. Shaking her head, she picked up her skirts and moved across the crowded room to cut off his exit.

With a wicked grin, Lucius, Viscount Page nodded back at her and slipped into the hall. Annette broke into a run, bumping into several gentlemen and almost colliding with one of the patronesses.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Jersey," gushed Annette, leaning around the countess's shoulder to see which direction her brother had fled.

"La, why in such a hurry?" asked the older woman, not budging from her place in front of Annette. "Your cheeks are flushed, child. Perhaps some lemonade? Ratafia?"

"No, ma'am, I-I must visit the necessary," she whispered into the patroness's ear. "Please, I do beg your pardon, but I waited too long and…"

"Heavens, Lady Annette, you really must be more subtle," scolded Lady Jersey. "What would your father say?"

Her father, the Earl of Beecham, wouldn't care. After the loss of his wife, Annette had been raised by a family of all-males and indulgent servants, who pitied the poor girl's motherless state. As a ten-year-old, she'd been doted on by Papa and her four brothers. The oldest of whom was her chaperone this evening and had just escaped Almack's ballroom.

Her lack of response gave Lady Jersey the opportunity to continue the conversation. The patroness was called Silence behind her back due to her lack of it. As Annette listened to the woes of a young girl's upbringing without proper female guidance, how it wasn't her fault, how her father should have remarried to provide her with a lady's upbringing, her shoulders slumped.

Lucius would be long gone. And tipping his flask. If he didn't return before eleven, he wouldn't be admitted back into the ballroom. Almack's rules were strictly upheld. The drone stopped, and Annette looked up to find Lady Jersey waiting for an answer. Horse feathers!

"Whatever you think best, my lady," she answered demurely, biting her lip.

"Well, then. I'll introduce you after the next dance. Now, go attend yourself and hurry back. A quadrille is next," the countess said, her dark curls bouncing against her cheeks. "And splash some cool water on your cheeks to tone down that color."

"Yes, ma'am," Annette murmured, making her way to the door in the vain hope of catching her brother. She looked up and down the empty hallway, then flew down the steps to the next level. The hall here was shadowed, and she'd almost given up when she heard a stifled belch. Turning on her heel, she found him in an alcove, tipping his flask.

"You smell of whisky."

"Good whisky. Expensive whisky," answered Lucius. "Less of a headache tomorrow."

"Brother, why do you torture yourself so?" Annette knew he was lovesick, though he'd never admit it. "I miss her too. She taught me all the ridiculous, intricate rules I needed for my first Season. Not that I remembered them all. I so wish she was here to help me through it."

A low growl sounded from Lucius's throat. The lovely Lady Christiana had stolen his heart when he'd met her several years ago at a Christmas ball. But after university, Lucius's best friend and ever-charming rogue, the Earl of Winfield, had wooed, then married her. A few months ago, the noxious rake had died in a scandalous accident, leaving his wife childless and alone. After the funeral, Lucius's flask had come out.

"Have you tried talking to her again?" she asked, placing a hand on his arm as he tried to take another drink.

"She won't see me when I call or answer my letters. At the cemetery, she told me that men had been the cause of all her sorrows. She would never allow another into her heart." He put the flask away. "Got herself locked away on that country estate of her mother's."

Annette sighed. "I'm sorry, but I'm sure she just needs time. Winfield was a terrible husband?—"

"I tried to warn her. Of course, it only made me look jealous of the scoundrel." Lucius snorted, then handed her the flask as if she were one of his friends from the club. "Take a nip. It will make the night pass faster."

Against her better judgment, but also thinking of her upcoming introduction, she took a swallow and gasped at the heat pouring down her throat. "Heavens, how can you drink this rot?"

"It's an acquired taste. It gets better with each swallow. Try again," he said with a grin.

She shook her head and handed it back with a shiver. "I don't care for spirits. You know that."

"The more for me, then," he mumbled.

"Don't get foxed."

"Only mellow," he promised.

"Papa says it's time you start looking for your own wife. She may never come around, Lucius." Annette reached up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Lady Jersey is introducing me to… someone, and I must dance the next quadrille with him. Please make sure you're back before eleven. Please, Lucius. Don't embarrass me by leaving me unchaperoned."

He let out a loud sigh. "Of course. I'm your oldest brother. I will always protect you. Now go," he said, pushing her toward the stairs. "I'm crossing my fingers for you that he's handsome, plump in the pocket, and brave enough to face all of your brothers."

Annette gave a half-hearted sigh. Having four protective brothers had not helped her chances for a match. They had announced to anyone who would listen that there would be retribution against any man who hurt their sister. In any way. None of the suitors with the courage to come forward had been remotely interesting. She was certain they only braved her brothers for her generous dowry.

Annette hovered by a gilded column on the edge of the ballroom. The newly installed gas lights in the elaborately cut chandeliers glittered with an unnatural brilliance. At the far end of the room, the musicians were seated on the balcony and just ending the last strains of a dance. She turned to see herself in one of the mirrors lining the walls at various points. Smoothing her plain dark-brown hair and tucking in a loose strand at her neck, she inspected her dress. It was pomona silk, one of her favorites. It had tiny roses embroidered along the cuff of her short puff sleeves and the hem, and the color brightened her green eyes.

Lady Jersey joined her, pulling Annette's hand through her arm. The woman had made it her mission to find the "poor motherless waif" a husband this Season. "Are you quite ready?"

"Yes, ma'am." Annette followed the countess to a group of debutantes and young gentlemen. She knew all of them, at least by name. No! Lady Jersey wouldn't possibly introduce her to?—

"Lady Annette, have you met Lord Frederick?" She curtsied and then extended her hand. While they hadn't formally met, she was quite aware of his reputation. He was short for a man, and according to her brothers, what he lacked in height he made up for in arrogance and provocation. His derisive comments often goaded others into arguments that led to physical blows, leaving Lord Frederick to take bets and make merry off the ensuing brawl.

"I understand you are in need of a partner for the next dance?" asked the duke's son, rubbing his weak chin. He wore his blond hair in a tall pouf, and his pale blue eyes never met her gaze, remaining on her square neckline. Though he wasn't a handsome man, it was his personality that made him unattractive. She didn't like arrogant men or mean-spirited Corinthians.

"If the request is out of pity, please don't feel obligated," she said, trying not to wrinkle her skirt as her hands fisted at her sides. "I won't be disappointed to miss a dance."

" A dance? I hadn't thought you'd been asked at all this evening." He smirked. "My mother said I need to be more charitable, so you'll be helping me out." He held out his arm.

She laid her fingers on his sleeve, knowing it would be an insult to Lady Jersey if she refused. How did women not see Lord Frederick as he really was? "Then you owe me a favor."

He laughed, showing a mouthful of crooked teeth. "I may not be the best-looking in the room, but I'm the only man brave enough to risk your brothers' wrath. I shall be the hero at my club tonight."

Annette rolled her eyes as they joined the line of dancers, then pasted on a smile. She couldn't be seen as shrewish. She'd never find a husband. And she wanted a family of her own desperately. As Lord Frederick bowed to her curtsy and the dance commenced, she also realized she wasn't that desperate yet.

At one point, as she and Lord Frederick touched palms and made a turn, he licked his lips, staring at her bosoms. The gleam of the chandeliers shone on his thick mouth . The man had no idea how unappealing he was. Some poor woman will have to kiss him, she thought in disgust, and pretend to enjoy it. That image almost sent her into giggles.

The quadrille finally ended, and Annette thought to escape, but his hand caught her arm. "Shall I escort you to the refreshment table? It seems I've put quite the blush onto your cheeks," he murmured in her ear.

Annette's mouth opened with a quick retort, then closed. It wouldn't help to end the Season insulting this man or causing a scene. She clenched her hand to keep from wiping his moist breath off her neck. Peering at the dais where the patronesses sat, she saw Lady Jersey smile at her encouragingly. "Yes, my lord, that would be lovely."

"I knew I'd break through that ice," he said with a waggle of his brows. His hand was a bit too heavy on her lower back as he guided her through the crowd. He fetched her a cup of ratafia.

"Thank you, I'm parched," she said, sipping the punch. Each time Lord Frederick tried to lean in close, she took another drink to keep him at bay. Which meant the drink quickly disappeared.

"I'll get you another," he said with a chuckle. "Did you like it?"

"It has a different taste but not in a bad way," she said, handing him the empty glass.

"I gave it a splash of rum," he said in her ear, then turned away.

Her cheeks burned with the knowledge that she'd just imbibed at Almack's. How dare he do such a thing without her permission. She looked about the crowd for Lucius, her ire growing when she couldn't find him. It was nearly eleven, and he promised to bring her to supper. She could not stomach dining with Lord Frederick. Either he, the alcohol, or both had ruined her appetite. Although she didn't mind the lightness in her head or the looseness of her limbs. The rum seemed to have a pleasant numbing effect.

Then she spied her brother's golden-brown head, and he waved his hand in greeting. He'd made it. Oh, thank the heavens. A warm breath hit the back of her neck, and then a sharp pain nipped her backside. She blinked, her mind a bit fuzzy. Had someone just?—

The pinch came again, and she pivoted on her heel, swinging with all her might. Just as her brothers had taught her.

Crunch. Hard bone met her gloved fist. A wave of satisfaction roared through Annette, and a smug grin turned her lips. "Go to the devil, you lecherous lickpenny!"

Chaos ensued.

There was a loud collective gasp, then loud cries and shouts for help.

"Lord Frederick has been attacked!"

"Did Lady Annette plant him a facer?"

"Lecherous lickpenny? Such language!"

"She never did act a proper lady."

"Between her brothers and that right hook..."

"She's this Season's social pariah now."

The remarks echoed in her head like a swarm of bees.

"What the devil did you do that for?" screamed Lord Frederick. He held his hand to his nose, trying to staunch the flow of blood. "You broke my bloody nose, you rattlepate."

Annette looked down at her white glove, now smeared with red, and looked back at him with wide eyes. "I'm so sorry. Someone pinched me." She looked around for someone to confirm what had happened, but all she saw were people staring at her with a mixture of amusement and horror.

One of Lord Frederick's friends came to the rescue with a handkerchief that was quickly soaked. Annette pulled one from her reticule and approached him with hers. "Here, my lord, let me help you."

He backed away, one hand palm out and the other holding his nose, his icy blue stare pinning her. "Don't touch me. Don't speak to me. Don't ever say my name again." He looked around at the guests and pointed at her. "Look at her with blood on her hands. This is what I get for taking pity on a-a wallflower. I was only doing a favor for Lady Jersey."

"Oh," cried the patroness from somewhere behind her.

That one syllable shattered her resolve. Annette knew she would go on the list and never be invited again. Which meant others would follow the patroness's lead, ending her first Season in disgrace.

The heckles and whispers enveloped her, taking away her breath. Annette blinked back tears. What had she done? Everyone stared at her as if she'd been the one to act inappropriately. Wasn't she the victim here?

Turning to her left, she beseeched a group of women who had welcomed her at the beginning of the evening. "He came up behind me and-and p-pinched me here." She touched her dress to indicate the spot and realized she'd used her right hand, smearing blood on the puce silk. "Oh, no, no, no." She looked at the women, imploring one of them to take mercy on her.

But they moved back and away from her as one body. She turned to her right, opening her mouth for support, but that group of females did the same. The men in front of her smirked, as if the scene had been the best entertainment of the evening. A cold sweat broke out all over her body. Her hands trembled; her throat swelled as the back of her lids burned.

Then a warm hand gripped her elbow, and she looked up at her brother, tears swimming in her eyes. "I-I…" The tears fell, and she hid her face in his coat.

She felt the rumble of his deep voice against her cheek as he barked over her head, "I saw what happened, you disgusting cur. To think a lady could take you out, you deuced molly."

"She's no lady," came the muffled response from behind a second bloody handkerchief.

"I will find you later and finish the job. Count on that."

Her walk of shame out of Almack's was the most horrendous few moments of her life. The crowd parted as they made their way to the door, indicating the need to distance themselves from the ruined lady and her brother. Her stomach roiled, and she clutched it as the room began to spin.

"I think I may?—"

Then the room grew dark, and Lucius swept her up in his arms.