Chapter 1

Chapter One

“ H elp, someone help! My sister has fainted!”

Rosalie heard her eldest sister Iris’ voice from above her, and she couldn’t help but feel a small, smug sense of satisfaction. She kept her eyes closed, however, so that Iris and their middle sister, Violet, would not suspect that she had faked the swoon.

“Rosalie, are you all right?” Violet asked now, her voice low and soothing, calmer than Iris’. Violet had always been the level-headed one of the three sisters, and her hands now came to Rosalie’s brow and smoothed it back. “Can you hear me?”

Rosalie shifted and let her eyelashes flicker. She’d seen other young ladies act similarly when they’d been roused from swooning fits, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit she’d studied them. The romantic in Rosalie had always dreamed of swooning in a man’s arm.

“I think she’s awake,” she heard Iris say anxiously. “Or coming around at least.”

“Iris? Violet?” Rosalie murmured her sisters’ names and fluttered her eyelashes again. “Are you there?”

“We’re here, Rose!” Iris said at once.

“Can you hear us?” Violet asked softly.

Rosalie opened her eyes. She was on the floor of the ballroom in the townhouse that belonged to Violet’s husband James, the Duke of Attorton. Both her sisters were crouched over her, Iris looking pale and fearful, Violet calm and concerned.

The ballroom was hot and crowded, but those closest to them were giving them a wide berth, allowing her air. Though Rosalie could see ladies and gentlemen craning their necks to get a good look at her, curious and nosey as all members of the ton were.

“I’m all right,” she murmured, making to sit up, but Violet held her back.

“Careful,” she said. “You don’t want to get dizzy again.”

Someone arrived with a glass of port and smelling salts, and Rosalie subjected herself to a strong whiff of the salts as Iris waved them under her nose. She grimaced as the sharp smell hit her then reached for the port. This was decidedly more pleasant to swallow.

“Do you feel better?” Iris asked, putting the stopper back in the smelling salts. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” Rosalie said, speaking slowly and quietly so as to add verisimilitude to her ruse. “One moment, Violet was talking about little Henry, and the next…” she waved a hand to indicate her fall.

“You’re not the first person to faint at stories of my rascal son,” Violet said, chuckling.

“Why don’t you get some air?” Iris suggested, her brow still wrinkled with worry. “I can get Phineas to take you…” Phineas was her husband, the Duke of Eavestone, and Rosalie quickly shook her head. She was fond of both her brothers-in-law, but they were sharp, observant men, and she wasn’t sure she could fool them for long.

“I’d rather retire to the library,” she declared, sitting up fully now. The port had given her a pleasant warm feeling throughout her body, and she was anxious now to make good on her faux fainting spell to finally get the solitude she so craved. “I’ll feel like myself once I’m surrounded by books.”

Violet’s eyes narrowed, and the look she gave Rosalie then told her that she suspected this had been her plan all along. Iris, however, didn’t seem to suspect a thing.

“Well let me come with you at least,” she said. “You ought not to be alone right now.”

“I’ll be fine on my own,” Rosalie rushed to say. “I just need a moment to breathe away from the heat of the ball.”

And I need to break from hearing about both your perfect marriages and plans for children , she thought, but she didn’t say this out loud.

“I don’t know…” Iris bit her lip. “As the hostess, Violet has to stay here, but I could come with you.

Rosalie felt her heart sink. Am I never to have a moment of peace?

Fortunately, Violet came to her rescue.

“The library is only next door, Iris,” she said, placing a reassuring hand on her sister’s arm. “And I’ll send the housekeeper to look in on her as well. I’m sure she’ll just be sitting and reading. Isn’t that right, Rosalie?”

“That’s right,” Rosalie assured quickly, bobbing her head.

“Well… I suppose that’s all right then,” Iris mused as she helped Rosalie up onto her feet. A crowd had gathered at a respectful distance, and they were staring with wide eyes at Rosalie, so Violet quickly turned and reassured them all of her sister’s health, shooing them away. When she turned back around, they had all gone.

“Just be careful,” Violet said.

Rosalie nodded then hurried away, probably too quickly for one who had just fainted, but she didn’t care. She had to escape now while she still had the chance.

The moment she was outside of the hot, crowded ballroom, Rosalie let out a long breath of relief. In the past, she had loved balls and could spend hours flirting and dancing with handsome gentlemen, but her pleasure had come to an end after an unfortunate experience with a potential suitor two years previously, who had pretended to woo her only to spy on her for her father, Jebediah Crampton. Her father had been a notorious convict and the former Viscount of Carfield.

Now, Rosalie preferred to be alone, reading. It was also difficult to listen to her sisters go on and on about children, families, and their husbands. As much as she loved her sisters and wanted to know about her lives, they didn’t make an effort to include her in these conversations, and being left out hurt more than she cared to admit.

They don’t mean to exclude me , she told herself for the hundredth time. They just don’t think about how little I can contribute to a discussion of romantic love and family life.

Rosalie pushed open the door of the library and slipped inside. At once, the sound of the ball became muffled, and she was hit with the strong, familiar, comforting smell of old books. She breathed in deeply then let out a long, happy sigh.

“At last,” she murmured.

“What are you doing in a dark, empty library, all on your own?” a voice asked from the dark, and Rosalie nearly jumped out of her skin. She clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream, and stared fearfully around, looking for whoever had spoken to her.

But in the dimness of the library—since none of the lamps had been lit—she couldn’t see anyone.

Slowly and shakily, she lowered her hand. “W-who’s there?” she asked, her eyes still raking over the tables, chairs, and bookcases in search of her observer.

“Tut tut,” the voice replied, and now, she clearly identified it as that of a man. “Don’t you recognize my voice? I recognized yours at once, Rosalie.”

Rosalie felt her stomach squirm. Her first thought was of her father. But no, he was still in prison, and anyway, she would surely have recognized his voice.

The next thought left her cold. Could it be Mr. Cain, the villainous suitor who had been in league with her father but had narrowly escaped prison?

She scrambled forward to the side table where she knew Violet kept candles and a flint box, and with shaking fingers, she lit a small candle. She shoved it into a small candle holder and held it up.

“How do I know you?” she demanded with more forcefulness than she felt. “Do you mean me any harm? Did you come in here to hurt me?”

“Now, I am truly offended,” the man said, and she heard his footsteps drawing near her. But as she raised the candle high, she saw nothing. The light from the candle didn’t extend far, and the light it did shed only created more shadows, each more menacing than the last. “I came here to this sanctuary to be alone, not to threaten young women. You are the one disturbing my solitude, not the other way around. If anything, I should be worried that you are here to harm me.”

But he let out a small laugh at this, as if no one would ever believe that Rosalie could do him harm. The back of her neck prickled. She knew, somehow, that he was watching her—that he was standing behind her. But when she whirled around, he wasn’t there.

There was another low laugh.

Why don’t I recognize his voice? she wondered. It must be the vastness of the library, distorting it. Or else the way the books muffle sound.

Still, from the way the man spoke, she had a feeling that he wasn’t an enemy. Just someone who was enjoying toying with her.

The thought made her angry, and with the anger, the fear disappeared.

I’m sick of people trying to toy with me and my family.

“Tell me who you are,” she snapped. “No more games.”

“But I thought you liked games,” the man said, and his voice seemed to be coming from all around her. She heard footsteps again, this time retreating, but there was still no one ahead of her. “Or at least, I thought you liked stories: to imagine yourself as the main character in one of the novels you love to read.”

Rosalie flushed, and she was suddenly grateful for the cover of darkness. There was no way that her mysterious tormentor could know that he’d just touched a nerve, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her turn scarlet with embarrassment.

“Life isn’t like a novel,” she quipped, repeating something her sisters often said to her when they accused her of being too ‘dreamy’ and ‘romantic’.

A throaty laugh came from above her. “I know that. But do you?”

Above me!

Rosalie realized, with a swoop of her stomach, where the man was: he was on the second floor of the library on the wrap-around balcony. That was why she couldn’t see him and why he seemed to be surrounding her at all times.

She turned quickly and spotted the spiral wrought-iron stairs several yards from her.

“Do you know that?” she asked as she dashed to the stairs and began to storm up them. “Because right now you are acting like some kind of villain in a gothic novel.”

“I prefer a phantom,” she heard him say, his voice retreating as her steps echoed on the stairs. “Or a ghost.”

“You’d have to be scarier to be a ghost,” she said contemptuously. She reached the top of the stairs and looked to her right. The thin balcony circled all the way around the library, but in the shadow, it was hard to make out anything.

“Looking for me?” a voice murmured right behind her, and once again, Rosalie nearly screamed. Instead, stifling her scream, she whipped around, only to find herself looking up at Nathan Goldwin, Duke of Carramere.

The Beast of Carramere.

“You!” she gasped as she stared up into the cool smile and gleaming amber eyes of her brother-in-law’s cousin. “I haven’t seen you in?—”

“Two years,” Nathan finished for her. “Yes. I’ve been… busy.”

Rosalie narrowed her eyes. When she’d first met Nathan, he’d been affable enough. But in the last two years, both his older brother and his father had died, and he had gone from being a seldom-mentioned second son to being the most gossiped-about man in the ton.

Nor was it good gossip.

“You really shouldn’t wander into dark corners with strangers, Rosalie,” he said now, his voice silky and low, and Rosalie felt a shiver go down her spine that she didn’t fully understand.

She put her free hand on her hip and tried to act unmoved. “You’re not a stranger. You’re James’ cousin, and we’ve met many times.”

“That was years ago,” he said dismissively, taking a step towards her. “Back then, you were still a girl. But now you are a young woman, out in Society, and it will be very bad for you if you are found to be alone with gentlemen of a certain… reputation.”

As he came closer, the candlelight showed him more clearly, and she became intensely aware of how high his cheekbones were and how sharp and strong his jaw and long, aquiline nose were. She had never noticed, either, how tall he was or how rakishly his black hair fell in front of his eyes.

“Then perhaps you should leave,” Rosalie suggested with more bravery than she felt.

Truthfully, there was a strange feeling in her chest that was making her heart beat rapidly and the back of her neck start to sweat. This must be fear, surely…

“I was here first,” he argued, and she saw the flicker of a coy smile cross his lips. “Perhaps you should leave.”

“This is my sister’s home,” she pointed out.

“And my cousin’s.”

Rosalie felt the breath catch in her throat. Was she flirting with Nathan? Was he flirting with her? She couldn’t be sure. Ever since the incident with Mr. Cain, she had been too frightened of most men to flirt with them.

Nathan stepped closer to her, and he reached up a hand as if to touch her face. However, he stopped right before his fingers actually grazed her skin.

“Run along now, little bird,” he breathed. “Back to your sisters, where it’s safe.”

Rosalie’s mouth had gone very dry. His fingers were so close to her that she could feel the heat coming off of him. She had never felt so small and so vulnerable in all her life, yet that very thing made her feel as if her body were buzzing. She almost liked this feeling.

And that’s what scared her most.

She didn’t want to feel this way—not when she’d spent her whole life longing for a man who made her feel safe and striving to avoid any men that reminded her of her father and how scared he’d always made her feel.

“You’re quivering,” the Duke said—because now, he was no longer Nathan , he was the Duke of Carramere, the Beast of Carramere. She could see it now, his ability to be frightening and alluring all at once, and she understood why all the gossip columns couldn’t stop writing obsessively about him.

“I-I have to go,” she stammered. She tripped over herself going backwards but managed to keep her balance. Then she was turning and walking, as quickly as she could, back along the balcony then down the stairs, careful to balance the candle even as she hurried faster and faster. Behind her, she thought she heard the Duke laugh again.

Finally, she was down the stairs then she was flat-out running across the hardwood floor. Every instinct in her was screaming at her to flee, to get as far away from the Beast of Carramere as possible.

And then?—

Her foot slipped.

Her stomach lurched.

She was falling.

And then she hit the ground with a hard thwack.

At the same time, the candle clattered to the ground, rolled, and landed among her skirts. She seemed to be watching it in slow motion as it flickered for a moment, and then, to her horror, her skirts caught flame.