Prologue

Oxford—November 1803

S terling Ayles flipped the woman onto her back, climbing atop her and thrusting in and out, hearing her call his name as she writhed beneath him.

He couldn't recall hers.

He buried himself in her a final time and then quickly pulled out, spilling his seed in the handkerchief which lay nearby. Sterling had no interest in fathering any bastards. Actually, he had no interest in being a father to legitimate children, either. Being the heir apparent to his father, the Earl of Carroll, he supposed he would have to think about providing an heir of his own someday. That day would be a long way off, however. He was only twenty years of age. Even if his father dropped dead tomorrow, Sterling wouldn't think of taking a wife for another twenty years. It was far too much fun to tup a woman and move on.

Wives meant taking responsibility. That was the last thing he cared about now. He still had two years left at university, where he'd spent more time gambling and bedding women than he had with any Oxford don. He planned to continue this pattern, living in the moment and only one day at a time.

He knew he was incredibly attractive to women and took pride in being the rogue he was. He was charming and smooth-talking. A great raconteur. A man others—both men and women—wished to be around. His life was about seeking pleasure and enjoying himself, knowing his smile was irresistible and able to get him whatever he wanted.

Besides, why should he settle down and become responsible? He was young and selfish, not caring what others thought. Especially his parents. While Sterling believed no one knew the true him, the people who knew him the least were the pair who had brought him into the world. Both the Earl and Countess of Carroll still seemed surprised when they came across him on the rare occasions they were in the same household at the same time. The couple was self-centered and hated country life. They had abandoned him to be raised by nannies and tutors and the household servants at Carrollwood, only coming home for a week around Christmas to East Sussex. They were parents in name only, and he refused to acknowledge them as thus.

Sterling believed he had raised himself. He had no other siblings and had gone away to school when he was but eight years of age. Holidays had usually been spent at the country estates of friends, though he had come home to Carrollwood each Christmas, in part to see if his parents still recognized him or might wish to apologize for abandoning him as they had. While they would speak to him briefly, they had little to do with him during their brief respite at home. Finally, he had stopped bothering to speak to them. He came home and did as he pleased and then returned to school, and now university.

At Oxford, he had made a few friends, though he wasn't truly close to anyone. Everyone found him amusing and charming, but it seemed no one saw the true Sterling Ayles. Of course, he did try to keep the real Sterling hidden from the world. He had done so for so long, even he wasn't quite certain who that man really was.

The widow in bed with him stroked his arm. "That was lovely, my lord," she said, giving him a come-hither look.

But he was done with her. They had coupled several times. He had no need of becoming involved with one woman or seeing to her needs. Even though he admitted he was selfish in that regard, women still flocked to him.

"Fools," he said under his breath, shaking his head.

"What was that?" she asked.

He smiled, knowing it would distract her. "Nothing. I must be going, though."

"When will I see you again?" she asked, her hand still moving along his arm.

"You won't," he said bluntly. "We are done."

Her bottom lip trembled as she sat up. "Did I do something wrong, my lord?"

"No, nothing at all," he assured her, smiling again to reassure her. "I simply must dedicate more time to my studies. I want my father to be proud of me, you know."

That was so far from the truth, he bit the inside of his mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. Fortunately, he was a good actor, and he saw from her face that she believed the outlandish lie.

"I know you work hard," she said. "You must have so much to read."

"I do." He brushed the hair back from her face. "I have neglected my studies for you. I must remedy that now. You will find someone else."

She sighed, moving close and kissing his shoulder. "No one like you, Ayles. You are a lover like no other."

Rising from the bed, he pulled his shirt over his head. "Well, I am glad that I have satisfied you."

He finished dressing and then blew her a kiss, which she pretended to catch.

"Good luck with your studies," she called as he exited the bedchamber and hurried down the stairs.

Sterling pulled his greatcoat tightly about him, trying to ward off the damp chill in the air. The wind had picked up, making it seem colder than it truly was.

He stopped in a pub for a quick meal, and then returned to his rented rooms. Of course, his father paid for them, but the man had never asked Sterling one question about his time at Oxford. Where he lived. What he studied. Who his friends were. Instead, the family solicitor took care of any bills Sterling acquired, along with paying tuition and the rent for the rooms. Most of his fellow students shared rooms with one or two others, but he was a loner, despite seeming so social and affable. He preferred total silence when he came home, using the quiet to pen poetry and plays. Now that would surprise his fellow students if they learned of those endeavors. Everyone knew Sterling was smart, but he brushed that aside, pretending he didn't care for his studies or anything related to academics.

Writing fulfilled something inside him, something unspoken. He had accumulated stacks of his work but would never share them with anyone. It was for his eyes alone, an expression of who he was, the man no one knew.

Using his key, he unlocked the door to his rooms. As he stepped over the threshold, he saw someone had pushed a letter under it. He bent to retrieve it and took it to the table, where he lit a candle. It was only a little past four in the afternoon, but dark had already fallen.

He broke the seal, curious as to who had written him since this was the first letter he had received since he had come to Oxford to study. The letter was dated but carried no salutation, which Sterling found odd as he begin to read.

12 November 1803

There is no easy way to say this, so I will be blunt.

You are now the Earl of Carroll.

Your parents passed away this morning at his lordship's London residence. A sudden fever struck them both a few days ago. The doctor was called, and he did all he could. Unfortunately, the countess succumbed to it first around four this morning, quickly followed by the earl at five-thirty.

Having prepared your father's will, I know they wanted to be buried in town. I assume you will wish to be at their burial. I will share the contents of Lord Carroll's will with you afterward.

I took the liberty of borrowing his lordship's carriage and coming to Oxford to retrieve you. I am staying at the Deerfield Inn, which is near your rented rooms. I suggest you return with me to town tomorrow morning, after you have spoken to your tutors, informing them of your parents' deaths. Certainly, they will be sympathetic to your situation and grant you a leave from your studies, at least until the beginning of the new year.

Please contact me once you have read this to confirm these plans. I am here to serve you, Lord Carroll, and will answer any questions you might have regarding the estate and your inheritance.

Sincerely,

Mr. Potter

Folding the letter, Sterling slipped it inside his coat's pocket. He paused, thinking the only family he had left was now gone.

And he felt absolutely nothing.

He wondered if there might be something wrong with him, or had the fault been with his parents? While he knew from talking with other boys at school that many parents had little to do with their children, his seemed especially distant.

It didn't matter. They were gone. Good riddance to them. He was now the Earl of Carroll. While he believed he would one day wed and produce the expected heir apparent, that day was far into the future. No reason to make him and a woman miserable by shackling themselves together now. No, he would remain at Cambridge and finish his time here, and then he would carouse to his heart's desire, staying in London most of the year. Carrollwood had seemed a prison to him all those years growing up. He would only go to the country when absolutely necessary.

For now, he would live life as he saw fit and enjoy his wealth and status in Polite Society. Sterling would choose to look forward—and never back to his unhappy childhood.