Prologue

PROLOGUE

London, January 1868

F rost had formed on the lampposts as Hadrian Becket, Earl of Ravenhurst, strode away from Westminster toward Whitehall. He had a meeting with an inspector at Scotland Yard about the Clerkenwell explosion and the Fenians. The air was chilled but thick with the ever-present fog that clung to the streets at this time of year.

Hadrian pulled his hat down closer to his ears, regretting that he hadn't taken the scarf his valet had pressed upon him earlier that afternoon. But Hadrian had been in a hurry to get to Westminster.

There weren't many people about at this late hour—nearly midnight—but the streets weren't empty either. Hadrian kept his attention rapt as he surveyed the area while he walked. It wouldn't do to be surprised by a footpad.

A boy came toward him, dirty-faced, his dark eyes round and hollow. "Ha'penny for me younger siblings, guvna?"

That slight distraction was all it took.

A hand gripped Hadrian's right shoulder from behind tightly, viciously. Turning his head, Hadrian saw a man, his hat pulled low over his brow and a scarf covering most of his face. He pulled at Hadrian's outer garments just enough to expose his side. Hadrian caught the flash of a knife as it flicked toward him, slicing just beneath his ribcage.

The blade was long and sharp, neatly piercing Hadrian's clothing and his flesh. Pain flashed, but he didn't think of it. He clasped the man's wrist while the knife was still embedded in his side.

Hadrian pivoted. The man was a few inches shorter than Hadrian's six feet, two inches and thick and muscular. A gray scarf covered his neck and the lower half of his face, leaving just his dark, narrowed eyes exposed. The ruffian had been smarter than him, it seemed. In more ways than just guarding against the cold.

The man's gaze swept over Hadrian's face then lifted to meet his eyes. Surprise registered briefly. Did the brigand know him? Hadrian had never seen him before. But his eyes were now emblazoned in his mind.

Angry and desperate to free himself, Hadrian tightened his grip on the man's wrist. The ruffian twisted the blade. Hadrian sucked in air as a pain he couldn't ignore shot through him. He had the sense to cry for help, his panicked voice thundering in the night. Someone would hear him. He wasn't that far from Westminster.

The man withdrew the knife from Hadrian's flesh, but Hadrian wouldn't release him. He would know why this man wanted to kill him.

The villain tried to pull away. "Leggo!" Growling, his eyes now furious, he kicked his leg against Hadrian's calves and pushed him forward.

Hadrian had nowhere to go but down. He fought to keep hold of the man's hand, but it was futile. In the end, he fell to the cobblestones. Unable to get his hands in front of him to break the fall, his head hit the rough stone.

Agony exploded in his head, forcing Hadrian's eyes closed. A terrible weakness spread through him along with a helplessness.

As darkness descended, he realized he had something in his hand, something that didn't belong to him. He managed to shove it into his pocket as he gasped for breath. Then he moved his hand to the wound in his side where thick, sticky blood flowed freely.

Anger coursed through Hadrian as he fought to remain conscious. This was not the way things were supposed to end. Murder would not be his fate.

However, he couldn't keep the shadow from claiming him. He drifted softly and infuriatingly easily into the abyss.