Chapter 1

August 5, 1890

A gentle breeze brushed over Lady Octavia Stapleton's skin as she walked through the open French doors leading out to Lord and Lady Ealing's patio and the gardens beyond. Inside the ballroom, the heat had slowly made her skin feel clammy, and her corset seemed more constricting than usual.

Looking up at the night sky, she made out the constellation Cassiopeia then spotted the plough. Trees near the patio blocked part of the sky, and Octavia made her way down the terrace steps to cross the lawn for a better view of the stars. It didn't take long for her thoughts to drift toward the topic she'd been mulling over for some time now. Yesterday, after months of contemplation about her future, she'd reached a decision.

This was her last season.

She would be happier living as a spinster at the cottage Aunt Sarah had bequeathed to her than trapped in a loveless marriage. Over the past few months, Octavia had come to accept certain facts. After three seasons, she'd yet to meet a man who possessed even two or three of her father's wonderful qualities. Nor had she met a man who didn't need her money. It was a well-known fact her father's wealth would ensure she and her sisters would have substantial dowries.

Most of all, and as unrealistic a hope as it was, she wanted a man who would love her whole-heartedly, despite her plump figure or the fiery temper she'd inherited from her paternal grandmother. The painful truth was that her prospects had dwindled significantly, and the only men seeking her company now were noblemen in need of a bride with a large dowry.

Never , in even her worst nightmare, would she agree to marry a single one of them. For months now, her polite refusals to dance, accept callers, or any other attempt to avoid them had daunted their pursuit of her. They hunted her like bloodhounds chasing a fox. Several of them had even been bold enough to point out marriage was better than spinsterhood.

Many of her suitors had stressed their willingness to overlook the scandalous nature of her mother's background. Most in the Set envied the Earl and Countess of Montford's more than twenty years of marital bliss. But for some, not even an earl was exempt from breaching society's rules when it came to marrying his household maid.

The scandal had always made certain circles in the Marlborough Set shun Octavia and her family. But if a man's pockets were light, money made any woman acceptable as a wife. With every obsequious compliment, Octavia was finding it harder and harder to control her fiery temper as one unacceptable suitor after another tried to curry her favor. Worst of all, every single suitor treated her as if she were a child or an imbecile. She was far from either.

Octavia had become so irritable with the situation, even her parents had begun to notice her sharp tongue. While they understood her refusal to marry a man she didn't love, she knew they still held out the hope she would find a love as meaningful as theirs. They were destined to be disappointed, especially when she informed them of her plans. A husband wasn't necessary to building a full and happy life for herself, especially when it gave her the freedom to do what she loved best—painting.

Her sisters could give their parents grandchildren when they married. Octavia would be quite satisfied painting portraits. Three years younger than her, the twins had been an unexpected, yet joyous, addition to the family. Octavia had worried the Marlborough Set would find them lacking as they had her, but it had proven a moot point of concern.

Her sisters were quite popular, and their first season was a glowing success. Unlike her first season, a voice in her head pointed out. She uttered one of her father's favorite oaths beneath her breath, then winced. If Lady Montford had heard the unladylike curse, her mother would have eyed Octavia with stern disapproval.

Lord Montford would have immediately fled the room, struggling hard to contain his laughter on his way out the door. Clara and Serena would have mimicked their mother's appalled expression. However, Serena would have been forced to bite back a laugh, while Clara's stoic features would have been contradicted by the laughter sparkling in her lovely violet eyes.

Heavy footsteps echoed off the brick floor of the terrace. Seconds later, Lord Stanfield called out her name. No matter how often she refused to acknowledge the man, he was the most tenacious bloodhound of the lot. Anger spun its way through her. She couldn't even enjoy the night sky in peace.

Ready to serve up the man's head on a platter, Octavia took two steps back toward the patio, then abruptly changed course. Skirt raised to the indecent level of her calves, she raced toward the cluster of trees bordering the patio's sidewall. If she eviscerated the man verbally, it would make a scene. Whether or not another guest overheard her or the man spread the rumor himself, the outcome was inevitable. It would make her mother the subject of ridicule and derision. After all, what could one expect when one's mother had been a maid who'd dared to marry up the social ladder? In seconds, she reached the cluster of trees.

The foliage that had blocked her view of the sky when she'd first walked out onto the patio became a cloak of darkness and scented pine that kept her well-hidden from the viscount. Stodgy, balding, and condescending, Lord Stanfield made her skin crawl whenever he was near. Octavia shuddered as she heard him lumber down the patio steps to the pebbled walkway leading into the garden. Grateful to hear his voice receding deeper into the grounds, she sighed. In another moment or two, when she was certain the toad hadn't doubled back, she could return to the ballroom without him underfoot.

Resting the back of her head against the patio wall, Octavia stared up at the night sky again. It was beautiful tonight. There wasn't a cloud to be seen, which allowed the stars to shine brighter than usual in London. Although she knew it would be even lovelier in the darkness of the meadow beside the cottage.

The abrupt sound of male footsteps on the terrace made her close her eyes in disgust. Someone else to spoil her enjoyment of the night sky. Octavia bit back a fierce sound of angry frustration. It was clearly time to go home, if only to avoid a scandal the instant she lost her temper, which was close at hand. A moment later, the heavy tread of male footsteps carried the stranger back toward the French doors.

Minutes later, the man's footsteps moved away from her. Whoever he was, the man had failed to find who he was looking for and had decided to return to the Ealing's ballroom. Time to find Lady Ealing and plead a headache so she could escape this infernal affair. Octavia released an irritated sigh of disgust, then peeked around the corner of the patio's sidewall for any sign of Lord Stanfield.

Relief made her muscles relax when she saw the empty lawn and garden path. While Lord Stanfield might emerge from the garden at any moment, she was willing to risk outrunning the doddering old fool back to the ballroom. Relieved she'd outwitted Lord Stanfield, Octavia headed up the grassy slope to the patio stairs. She was halfway there when quick, light footsteps echoed off the brick pavers above her right shoulder.

" There you are."

"Here I am," a man growled.

"Oh for the love of God," Octavia muttered beneath her breath as her footsteps slowed to a halt. The man hadn't returned to the ballroom, after all. Now she could either interrupt a lovers tryst or risk Stanfield catching her on the patio as she raced back inside. Uncertainty swept over her as she tried to decide whether to reveal herself or return to the shadows.

"Good Lord, I've not seen you scowl at me like that in ages."

"I am not scowling," the man growled. Despite his dissent, his sharp reply made it hard for Octavia to believe he wasn't glaring at his companion. Whatever his facial expression, she could tell he was quite put out by the woman's amusement.

Despite his annoyed tone, the warm, silky notes layered beneath his aggravation were easy to hear. Transfixed, Octavia experienced a rush of pleasure. It was a voice one wouldn't forget, and she'd never heard it before. Dark and rich, his words echoed off the patio to spin a web of fire around Octavia's senses.

It was as if someone had wrapped her in velvet that had been left out in the hot sun. Heavens, any woman he made up his mind to seduce would give way to that voice without a word of protest. Every word and inflection would reduce a woman to a state of complete submission.

" Yes , you are , and you cannot look so grumpy when you go back inside."

"Why the devil not? And I do not look grumpy." A weary sigh accompanied the last part of his response.

"Yes. You do."

"Liza, I'd like to go home."

Octavia stiffened in surprise as she suddenly realized the woman speaking with the stranger was Lady Elizabeth Whitfield. She might not know the man's voice, but Elizabeth was a frequent visitor to Montford Place. One of her sister's closest friends, Clara and Elizabeth were a familiar sight to the Marlborough Set.

Whether they appeared together or as a trio when Octavia's other sister joined them, the young woman was just as well-liked by the Set as the twins. Unlike herself, she thought with a grimace of resignation. Lady Elizabeth was second only to Serena when it came to the young woman being one of Clara's closest confidants.

Like Octavia's sisters, Elizabeth was in her first season. Being caught alone with a man would create a scandal. Worse, she might find herself married to a man who wouldn't make her happy. Octavia refused to let that happen. Just as she was about to announce her presence, Elizabeth released an unladylike snort of skepticism.

"You do look grumpy. Even Mama has noticed it. After you left the breakfast table this morning, she mentioned you've been exceedingly grouchy of late."

Octavia breathed a soundless sigh of relief. Elizabeth had to be talking to her brother, the Duke of Ashurst. The man had returned to London two months ago, after more than three years in America, and Octavia had made it a point to avoid him. It had been a wise decision. Even without having heard his voice, the man had been unforgettable. Octavia didn't relish admitting how often her dreams had reinforced that fact. She silenced the oath threatening to pass her lips.

The first time she'd seen the duke was at Lady Lyndham's soirée more than a month ago. Octavia's heart skipped a beat as an image of the duke filled her head. Tall, muscular, and his skin darkened by the sun's rays, the Duke of Ashurst was one of the most glorious examples of masculinity she'd ever seen.

Dark hair had enhanced a complexion that signaled he'd spent a great deal of time outdoors. No doubt acquired during his time in the American west, where it was rumored he owned a large cattle ranch. With his devilish good looks, and a smile that had left her breathless even from across the room, Octavia hadn't been surprised to see the duke encircled by the Set's loveliest women.

Lady Lyndham had caught her studying the duke and had murmured he would be quite a catch. Flustered the countess had seen her preoccupied with the man, Octavia had rejected the woman's offer of an introduction with a sharp shake of her head. At her refusal, Lady Lyndham had arched her eyebrows in surprise, making Octavia laugh. Still smiling, she'd told the woman it would be a wasted effort when the Duke of Ashurst would forget her name two minutes after they met.

Octavia knew her countenance was pleasant, but she was realistic enough to know her plump figure did not make her appealing to most of the male population. In the week that followed the Lyndham soirée, she'd overheard numerous conversations where women and men alike described the duke as intelligent and witty. The man was also said to be as thoughtful as he was charming.

With each successive account of the duke's qualities, Octavia had come to realize the Duke of Ashurst possessed almost all of the traits she desired in a husband, with the exception of one thing. The man was too handsome. Men of his looks and charms never pursued plump women like her. Experience over the past three years had reinforced that fact. It was why she'd always walked the other way whenever she saw the duke in the distance. She'd even gone so far as leaving an event on the pretense of a headache, all to avoid any chance of being introduced to him. Now that she'd heard his mesmerizing voice, she knew it had been the right decision.

The Duke of Ashurst's handsome face had convinced her that he could have any woman he wanted. His voice only emphasized that unshakeable belief. When one combined his physical attributes with a positive disposition, it made the man dangerous where she was concern. Such a man would be far too easy to like, which meant putting her heart at risk. And she'd be a fool to become enamored with a man like Ashurst.

"I thought I was quite pleasant at breakfast," the duke said with obvious puzzlement.

"Well, Mama told me that every time she mentioned either of us is in need of a new gown, you become quite irritable. She's worried we might be in financial trouble."

"I become irritable when I have to pay those outlandish bills that seamstress of yours sends me. Not even when father was alive did the two of you have so many dresses."

"You forget Papa died before I made my debut," Elizabeth's voice was soft with pain and grief. "This is my first season, and I need more gowns than usual."

"I remember," the duke replied with a gentleness that said he was quite fond of his sister. Silence fell between them for a long moment before the man chuckled. "I also know your clothing allowance is quite generous, but you've nothing to worry about. Our finances are well in order."

"Are they?" There was a moderate amount of skepticism in Elizabeth's words, and Octavia frowned at the young girl's query. "Never mind, don't even bother to answer that. You'll just tell me everything is fine and not to worry, no matter what our situation is."

"God save me," the duke said with a beleaguered sigh. "You've taken up our mother's habit of worrying too much."

"No, I'm far more pragmatic. I know Papa was terrible with finances, and when we lost him, you had to pick up the pieces."

"We are not destitute, Liza. I—"

"But if you married an heiress, I know it would—"

"Liza, if you do not tell me right now why I'm standing in the dark with my sister and not on my way to my club, I'll cut your clothing allowance by a third."

"You're here because I want you to ask my friend's sister Octavia to dance."

The girl's request made Octavia's heart sink to her stomach. Dear God, there was only one other woman here tonight with that name. And Octavia Weatherby didn't have a sister. Heaven help her, she'd descended into hell. Humiliation tighten her chest as she tried to breathe air into her constricted lungs. If this had been her sister's idea, Octavia would make her pay dearly.

"I presume this is another one of your charity cases?" The duke's sardonic question sent humiliation slicing even deeper into Octavia.

"Octavia is not a charity case," Elizabeth's fierce objection was sharp and irritated. "She's Lord Montford's oldest daughter. I'm certain you'll like her. She's very nice, and she won't be intimidated by you."

"Not intimidated, I am—"

"And there is, of course, her sizeable dowry."

" Damn it to hell, Liza. You and Mama are quickly becoming the bane of my existence," he snapped. "I will not have either of you interfering in my personal life."

"We would never dream of doing such a thing."

"Wouldn't you ?" the man groused with skepticism. "Our mother wants to hear the echo of small feet racing through the house, and if I dance with the woman, tongues will wag. The next thing you know—"

"Mama will be relieved to know the dukedom will not languish without an heir, and I will have nieces and nephews to spoil," his sister teased, unperturbed by his less than enthused manner.

" Christ Jesus , the man that marries you will never have a moment's peace unless he locks himself in his study on a daily basis," he complained with a groan. "I'm beginning to consider booking a return passage on the next ship back to America."

"And I know you're bluffing."

"Do you, indeed?"

"Yes, you missed Ashland Park too much." Silence fell between brother and sister for a moment before Elizabeth's voice became a quiet plea. "Oh please, Atticus. It's her third season, and if you dance with her, others will sit up and take notice. Please say you will."

Octavia swayed where she stood. She'd now descended into the second level of hell. Why hadn't she interrupted them the moment she knew Elizabeth was with her brother? She would have escaped into the ballroom never to have heard the duke being asked to take pity on her. Octavia knew the Marlborough Set already had labeled her a spinster, but this was different. If the Duke of Ashurst invited her to dance, it was tantamount to saying he'd taken pity on an old maid, which meant public humiliation.

"I now understand why father could never say no to you. You're like a dog with a bone." There was a distinct note of amused resignation in the duke's voice.

"Then you'll do it?"

"Yes, I'll do it."

The moment the duke agreed to his sister's request, Octavia flinched as if she'd been flayed with a whip. Her stomach churned as she ached to find a hole and crawl into it for the rest of her life. The sensation lasted less than a minute, before fury stiffened her muscles.

Jaw clenched with outrage, Octavia's hands curled into tight fists. For the past three years, she'd dodged dozens of fortune hunters. Yet not once had Octavia ever experienced a moment of self-pity, and she'd not cared how others viewed her. But this was something quite different.

Octavia refused to be an object of pity to anyone, least of all to a man who wasn't about to give her a second look after an introduction. Unless, of course, his pockets were to let, which appeared to be the Duke of Ashurst's current financial situation. Fury holding her limbs tight, she bit down on her lip. This just wasn't her last season. This was her last soirée, period.

"Oh, thank you, Atticus. I know you don't like to admit it, but you have a kind heart beneath that devil may care rakish attitude you present to the world." Lady Elizabeth paused for a brief second, then continued with her first display of aggravation. "Don't you dare deny it either. You buried your heart the moment Miss Bramley married—"

"I said I would dance with the woman, Liza. I did not agree to discuss my personal life." The duke's icy tone tugged a loud sigh from his sister.

"I'm sorry," Lady Elizabeth's voice seemed filled with sadness before her enthusiasm returned. "But I do think you'll like Lady Octavia. The two of you have a great deal in common, and as I said, she has a sizable dowry."

" Enough Liza . I've agreed to dance with the woman."

"All right, will you come now?"

"I'm not ready to dive back into that bloody heat," the duke said with annoyance. "I'll find you in a few minutes, and you can introduce me to this latest project of yours."

"Thank you, Atticus. I do adore you."

Octavia heard the soft tap of the young woman's slippers against stone across the patio as Lady Elizabeth returned to the ballroom. Anger still warming her body, she fought the urge to charge up to the brick terrace and tell the duke just what she thought of his compassionate nature. Male footsteps clicking against stone vibrated loudly through the air, and Octavia's eyes widen with horror as she realized the man was headed toward the balcony above her head.

Panic set her heart lurching in her chest. She'd already suffered enough humiliation for one night, being caught eavesdropping would only add to her misery. Without thought, Octavia threw herself toward the dark shadows of the terrace wall, intent on flattening herself against the brick fa?ade to avoid detection. It was a mistake unlike any other she'd ever made.

Thorns stabbed her skin, sending fire streaking across her back. Dear God, what fool had thought planting several bushes of climbing roses against the patio's brick wall was a good idea? In the back of her head, a voice mocked her with another question.

What fool would throw themselves into a cluster of brambles to avoid being seen? Octavia didn't know how she managed not to scream out loud. Instead, she suppressed the agonized cry with a soft whimper of pain, then swallowed the second one. Deep inside, she wondered if her cry had been one of physical pain or mortification. She didn't want to know.

Eyes closed, Octavia remained still. She would untangle herself from the rose bushes as soon as the man left the terrace. The thorns were painful, but the discomfort they caused paled in comparison to the humiliation of the past several moments. If the duke discovered her, the overwhelming embarrassment would drop her into a hellish fire of mortification unlike anything she'd ever known. Thorns she could recover from. Her pride and dignity could not.

Octavia's decision not to move didn't ease the fiery assault on her back, and she bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. Heaven help her, she'd not experienced something this painful since poison oak had covered her arms and legs as a child. The footsteps stopped, and Octavia closed her eyes, hoping the man wouldn't tarry too long. A second later, horror lanced through her.

"You may come out now, whoever you are."

How could the man possibly know she was here? Perhaps if she remained silent, he would think she was gone. A low chuckle whispered in her ears. The sound made Octavia tip her head back to see the Duke of Ashurst leaning over the terrace with a broad grin.

His amusement pulled something dark inside her to the surface. All the pent up fury she'd suppressed for weeks bubbled over, threatening to sweep her into no man's land. A second later, she drew in a breath of surprise as a tear slid down her cheek. Shocked, her brain tried to process the fact she wanted to bawl as loudly as a baby.

Over her head, she heard the duke utter an exclamation, but she didn't hear what he said because she was fighting not to sob unconsolably. How could she be so enraged, yet be on the verge of crying until her face was red and puffy?

Desperate to hold back the tears, Octavia squeezed her eyes shut. In an angry gesture, she lifted her hand to wipe away a tear that had escaped. The instant a thorn burrowed and sliced its way across her arm, she released a low cry of pain.

Warm, strong fingers clasped her hand in a gentle grip. Startled, she jumped, which made her wince as another thorn bit into her skin. Heart pounding, Octavia looked up to see the Duke of Ashurst towering over her. Bewildered, she blinked in amazement. Hadn't he just been leaning over the patio wall, staring down at her a few seconds ago? In the back of her mind, she heard taunting laughter.

He was taller than she'd realized, perhaps even taller than her father. It was a fleeting thought. The duke's fingers gently captured her chin and tipped her head up to study her. The light touch sent a small charge of electricity streaking across her skin. Startled, Octavia froze as she looked into a pair of dark-blue eyes filled with worry and concern.

In the back of her mind, she wondered how many women had wanted to drown themselves in his gaze. Sable-colored hair dropped carelessly over his forehead, and Octavia wondered if it would be silky against her fingers. Soft linen brushed across her skin as he wiped her cheeks dry in a gentle motion. Drawing in a shuddering breath, bergamot, mixed with a scent she couldn't define, filled her nose. It was a delicious smell.

"Now then, let's try and get you out of this mess as painlessly as possible."

Quiet sympathy vibrated in that mesmerizing voice of his, and Octavia went rigid. What in God's name was wrong with her? She didn't want this man's kindheartedness or comfort, and she certainly didn't like the effect he was having on her senses. No, that was the problem. She liked it far too much.

The truth made her flinch. It wasn't enough she had to be humiliated overhearing Elizabeth's request? Now, she had to demean herself by appreciating the charms of the devil tasked with her public humiliation? Octavia's mouth thinned with anger. She wanted nothing to do with the Duke of Ashurst. Although she doubted she had any worries in that direction.

It was far too likely the duke thought her a fool for getting entangled in these damned roses. Not that it mattered, she would be an even bigger fool if she forgot Elizabeth's concern for the Ashurst family coffers. For the first time since hearing the younger woman mention her name, Octavia gave thanks she'd not made her presence known. As long as the man didn't know who she was, she could still escape with her dignity intact.

While it was true one seldom heard anything good about themselves when eavesdropping, tonight she'd learned enough to avoid becoming an even bigger fool. Now, all she wanted to do was escape this hellish bush. When she was free, she'd end this nightmarish evening. The sooner she walked away from the duke's sympathy and pity, the easier it would be to distance herself from this paralyzing humiliation.