Prologue

FROM MISS CORA EASTWOOD'S PERSONAL DIARY

April 30, 1820

I finally know how it feels to be one of the heroines in my poems—compromised and without hope. Viscount Norton would not have caught me had Prudence not gone missing. But she did. And I, of course, went looking for her. Our identical costumes and thick, black veils transformed us into shadows at home in the dark. I had wanted to go as Maid Marian, originally, but Prudence thought dressing as midnight an excellent idea for Bellingham's masquerade. And I thought so, too. Twin dark ladies who, beneath their thick disguises, look nothing alike. A diversion to heighten the drama of the poem I was to recite tonight. The room had been chosen, abandoned and far from the dancing crush. The select audience had been informed. They knew well how to keep a secret. I had my lines memorized, and I needed only Prudence to help set up the candles. I saw her rush into the garden and followed.

Norton cornered me in a grotto, ripped at my sleeve, and ravished me.

Worse yet, I allowed him. I won't deny it here. If my poems are all fantasy, these pages must remain all fact. I allowed Norton to catch me and kiss me breathless.

Only—and here is where a cliff to fling oneself off would be useful—he had no idea he was kissing me .

The veil I wore hid everything above my lips. To his mind, he'd been ravishing Prudence .

And Mother caught us. Mortification, thy name is Cora.

He acted the perfect gentleman and made a gallant request of my hand in marriage. I accepted. What other choice did I have?

Now I marry a man who would prefer to marry someone else.

I always thought that marriage, if I decided to enter into such a state, would provide a remedy to my habitual loneliness. I see now it will only drive me further into those cold, solitary shadows.

May 22, 1820

I married Lord Norton today. Liam. I am a viscountess. My mother is quite pleased. My father is quite foxed. And I am quite worried. At the breakfast, Liam leaned in close. I thought he might give me a kiss, but he patted my hand instead, assured me he would not push me for his marital rights until I was well and ready to give them.

Is it possible to be relieved and disappointed at once?

It must be because I am. Where is the Norton from the garden, needy and determined? He disappeared when he discovered I was not who he thought I was.

We travel to Norton Hall, his country seat, in one week's time to wait out the gossip caused by the scandal of our union. I am to invite a select group of my closest confidants. For my own comfort, Liam said with a pleasing smile.

It is very sweet of him to consider my needs, but... I always thought honeymoons were for two . I should never forget I was not made to be part of a two .

June 3, 1820

My mother instructed me to lie back and close my eyes, but I did not. I watched Liam's face in the dim moonlight as he finally came to my bed. He took me rowing on the lake this afternoon, and I told him I was ready. What good is being married, after all, if one cannot experience the amorous arts? I've often thought the conjugal act might… bond two bodies, two souls.

I never thought to have a wedding night, and even when I'd allowed myself to imagine marrying someone, sharing his bed, I had never been able to see his face. Now I see Liam. And I cannot think of the planes of his face without seeing moonlight and shadows playing there. He's not the most handsome man of my acquaintance, but there's something restless in his motions, in his eyes.

All restrained tonight. He was a perfect gentleman. Entering my room in the dark, caressing me and whispering polite words, assurances. Clearly, he thought me an innocent. And I am. Biologically speaking. But, oh the things I've read. What would he think if he knew that, instead of a polite exchange which left me yearning for more, I'd rather he fuck me hard, touch me everywhere. If I can't have the kind of… connection my friends speak of, at least give me this.

As always, I ask for too much, should expect less.

He was all restraint, all accommodation for a woman he thinks innocent in every manner.

But I wish that restless man behind his eyes would slip his cage. And ravish me as he did in the garden.

Perhaps I will tell him the next time he visits me. He is such a kind man. And in the garden, he showed such passion… I cannot think he will reject my request that we learn to please one another together.

There I go again—asking for much, expecting more… hoping.

June 6, 1820

He left.

He left .

I barely know how to write any words but those two. No, I can find three more.

He found out .

I can barely breathe. My heart gallops in my chest, and my mind races. See how my shaky hand trembles the ink across the page?

I did not wish to marry, did not wish to end up like my mother. But here I am, alone, as my husband runs off to a London brothel.

He found out about the books I read. Erotic books of all sorts, the kind I'm not even supposed to know exist, the kind that teach me words like fuck and how women's bodies can light up with pleasure if a man takes care to ignite her.

It is apparent Liam does not care. Now he knows I am no green girl.

Do I disgust him?

He disgusts me ! Wolf in sheep's clothing. Gentleman with a rogue's tattered soul. He will slip into Lady Circe's Nunnery, and no man will question him. They may, indeed, raise a glass in his honor. He might meet my father in the hallways. But I cannot read a book and know my body. I cannot feel desire and need without earning the world's censure.

Then I shall burn the world down.

Or at the very least, burn my husband to ashes. If he thinks I will accept his roving loins with the same equanimity my mother did my father's, he will soon learn otherwise.

I leave for London now, no matter how dim the moon.