Prologue

PROLOGUE

Stonehurst Estate

Cumbria

June 1803

Ian never cared for fishing. He much preferred riding across the vast Stonehurst estate during his mornings home, now that he had returned from Eton.

But his father, the seventh Duke of Dandridge, loved little else besides fly fishing in the river cutting through the property. And Father, who was rarely in residence at all, was the only person he needed to speak to this morning.

Unfortunately.

He swished a large stick through the tall grass cresting the small hill that overlooked the meadow. It was brilliant this time of day, all golden light. Certainly, it was much more tolerable than the halls of Eton.

Ian slowly approached the hunched figure of his father, who stood by the riverbank casting his line into the water. He waited a moment, bracing himself for what he knew was about to happen.

“I know you’re there,” his father growled. He adjusted the line of the pole, then glared over his shoulder. “There’s a reason I can’t take you stalking. You walk like you want the world to shake.”

It’s nice to see you, too, Father.

Instead, Ian set down his stick and slowly approached, afraid to let his father fully see what he was likely to hear about soon. If he stuck around, that is.

“I arrived home yesterday. It’s nice to be back.”

His father grunted, focusing on the river. With a flick of his wrist, the line tightened into a loop before extending and rolling across the surface.

Ian was quiet for a moment, unsure of what to do with his hands. Fold them perhaps, clutch them behind his back. He couldn’t push back the nerves grating at him. He peeked over at his father, shocked to discover his stern features were drawn, and there was more white at his temples. Ian was nearly taller than him now. At least he had that advantage.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” his father snapped. “Now that you are home.”

Ian’s heart sank. It was always this way, always a day or a few hours here and there. Over the years, he saw his father in patches, a brief glimpse of what could have been.

His father was tall and often wore a scowl, his brows pinched as if he were distracted. He was kind toward Ian’s mother, civil at the very least, just as he was with Ian and Nathaniel. But at times, it felt his relationship with them was nothing more than a business transaction, there to establish and prepare him for the inevitable role of one day being the Duke of Dandridge, a role his father barely tolerated.

“Leaving? I wanted to learn how to fish,” he lied. “You’ve taught Nathaniel.”

“My business is exactly that. It is not your concern.”

He spun, fully facing his father. “I’m your heir.”

His father slowly studied the state of him, disgust curling at his lip. “ Yes, and look at you. Another fight? You’ll be a disgrace to the title like my own father. Soft and too pig-headed. Entitled .”

True, he had a black eye and another split lip, but the older boys at school were cruel. He wouldn’t allow them to pick on the younger boys, even if it meant he was beaten in the process. When he was the duke, they’d beg forgiveness all the same.

Ian bit back his reply. Flaring tempers never prevailed with his father. It was best to keep a steady head, to rule with logic and skip the excuses.

“You could write a letter then. Mother would love?—”

“Your mother is leaving for Italy once you return to Eton. She’s tired of England and wants to be with the rest of her family.”

Ian was family, though. He swallowed hard. It was not news that his parents shared a loveless marriage, but he expected his mother to remain, even if his father couldn’t be bothered.

“And Nathaniel?”

“I’ve arranged for a tutor.”

His younger brother was only nine. That hardly seemed fair.

“Will you leave him alone?”

His father snapped the line, then cursed. “That’s the second fish I’ve missed today because of you. Your brother will be fine.”

Fine, yes, but probably lonely. Only God knew how lonely Ian was.

“I heard you met Lord Fairbanks’s daughter and wrote her letters.”

“I asked permission.” Ian shrugged, growing uncomfortable. Strange that his father wanted nothing to do with him, but now he wanted to know who had caught his eye. It was harmless. A chance meeting at a social over ices. “She’s very pretty,” he said at last.

“And she’s two years older than you. Ready to make her debut.”

He had kissed her, loving the way the taste of lemon lingered on her lips. The taste of her was nearly… Oh, the others had teased him since, but he found he didn’t care. It was like he had discovered a secret the other boys didn’t know.

The trees overhead swayed in the warm summer breeze. Light filtered through, dancing on his riding boots. Later, he would seek out Nathaniel and go swimming. “That is all true,” Ian admitted. “That doesn’t change?—”

“It changes everything! You will be the duke, and it’s best you know that every woman will want to marry you because you have money and power. They will do whatever they can to trap you and land you as a husband.”

Ian looked away, not wishing to discuss this with his father. It felt impossible to be loved if you were to be a duke. He sort of hated the title, not that he would share the admission with anyone. He would uphold the duty, honor the family's legacy, but it was clear he must guard his heart.

But what was his father’s excuse for leaving?

“You don’t want her,” his father said, finally hooking a fish. He reeled it in slowly, leaned down, and pulled a large trout from the river. “You’re never to lie with a girl like that. Not now. Not at sixteen. Christ, you’re daft. Doesn’t surprise me. All your good sense has been knocked out of your head.”

Ian touched the corner of his lip, which smarted. It was the third time this year.

“I'll see if someone can arrange a visit to a brothel the next time you’re in London.”

If his father was as uncomfortable as he was at that moment, the man didn’t show it. Instead, he gripped the fish in his large, meaty hand and tossed it into a basket.

“Father, this is not necessary.”

“I have done my duty and supplied my heir, Ian. Now, I’ll give you a bit of advice, and don’t you damn well forget it. You need to learn how to touch a woman properly, and then you need to learn to leave them until you need a wife because, when you fall in love, that's when your life is over. You will be the Duke of Dandridge one day, and when you're older, every mother in London will throw their daughter at your feet by any means necessary, like some sacrificial lamb. And you will be a damn fool if you choose to wed for your heart. Their heart is never in it, no matter how well they lie. And they all lie, Son.”

London

January 1818

There were a hundred reasons why Charlotte preferred plants, but above all, they were quiet.

The Cranbourne’s ballroom was lively as the night nearly reached the stroke of midnight, and she had managed to successfully adhere herself to the damask wallcovering as debutante after debutante was asked for a dance by all the eligible bachelors of the ton . She remained, hiding, waiting for the hawks to stop circling.

And by some stroke of luck, her mother, the Countess of Drake, was preoccupied with gossiping among her friends, allowing Charlotte to all but disappear.

That is until Kate Bancroft.

“Come dance,” her friend said, sticking her bottom lip out in the perfect pout. Under the candlelight, the freckles across Kate’s cheeks only made her brilliant green eyes more noticeable.

“ Shh ,” Charlotte snapped, looking around her nervously.

Kate, all tall grace, tittered. “Lily is hiding in the library if that’s what you wish to do with your time.”

A few of the matriarchs glanced behind their seats toward the pair of friends and frowned.

“I wish not to be here.”

“Then where?”

“I should ask where you disappeared to. I saw you last dancing with Lord Parker.”

“Do you truly wish to know?” her friend asked with a sly grin.

Charlotte chuckled, unable to stop herself. “Well, now I must know.”

“Oh good. I thought you’d never ask.” Kate looped her hand around Charlotte’s arm and leaned down to whisper despite the din of the ball. “I was helping the Carlsson twins fortify the lemonade. ”

Forti —

“Katherine Bancroft, what did you do with the lemonade?”

“ Shh, shh ,” Kate said, unable to curb her giggles.

Oh dear.

“We thought the evening could be a little livelier. We were just doing our part.”

“How thoughtful.”

“I’m nothing if not giving, my dear.”

Charlotte bumped her hip against her friend, smirking. “You are a menace to polite society.”

Kate simply shrugged. “A little gin never hurt anyone. Now come on, we must find you someone to dance with.”

Charlotte pulled back and pressed up against the wall. It wasn’t as though she didn’t wish to do her part and find a husband. She just preferred to do it outside of a crowded ballroom, without all the noise and people. Couldn’t she just host a tea and interview a husband one at a time?

“Maybe the lemonade will help,” Lily said, sliding up with a cup for Charlotte, barely containing her glee.

“I thought you were hiding.”

Lily pushed the cup into her friend’s hand. “I was reading.”

“Same difference,” Kate said.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t sneaking gin into the lemonade. The Duchess of Wycliff will need to be escorted out of here before she falls over.”

“How is tonight any different from when she nearly fell asleep into the white soup at the Fortescues’ dinner last week?”

Charlotte glanced between her two friends, her heart full, and grinned.

“I was going to claim a headache and beg my stepmother to leave,” Lily said.

Charlotte clapped her hands, desperate to flee. “Fantastic idea.”

“You can’t plan the same, Lottie. You had a headache two nights ago at the Gibbons’ ball.”

Whereas Kate was tall with black, curly hair and vivid green eyes, Lily was petite and brunette and equally vivacious because of her sharp wit and sharper tongue. They were the perfect companions to Charlotte, who felt rather dull in comparison. She wished only to be married and have a family of her own. Lily was obsessed with the stars and had grand plans to submit academic papers to Philosophical Transactions , and Kate… Well, Kate didn’t object to the idea of marrying, but she was not in a rush to do so. And Charlotte was so painfully shy. Not to mention levelheaded. Or, as her mother preferred to call her, matronly.

In other words—boring..

“The both of you,” Kate chided. Then she straightened and pushed back the curls framing her face. “Smile. The marquess is heading this way. Please don’t”—Lily and Charlotte both swung their gazes to the approaching Marquess of Brookhouse—“look,” she groaned.

Kate had admired the marquess for nearly a year now. He was incredibly handsome as well as London’s most notorious rake. Kate didn’t care, though Charlotte cautioned her to avoid the man.

It didn’t matter because he walked right past them and up to a group of debutantes already surrounded by admirers before plucking one lucky girl from the crowd.

“I swear he will notice me one day,” mumbled Kate before Lily groaned.

“He is hardly a man worth aiming for.”

“Oh, he only needs a bit of direction,” Kate said with a sly grin.

“And you are the fresh flower who will make him see the ill in his ways?” Charlotte asked with a knowing smile.

Kate only shrugged, before her eyes grew big, and she wiggled her hips. “Someone is coming.”

Lily stood on her tiptoes and leaned forward before mouthing, “handsome.”

“Who?” Charlotte asked.

She wished she had worn her shawl to draw around her. Instead, her yellow satin dress felt like a target. Her mother had insisted it was fashionable, but if that were true, she wouldn’t have stood out among a sea of pinks and greens. She had already refused to wear a headdress fashioned with heron feathers on principle.

“I believe he’s the Duke of Dandridge.”

“His brother is friends with the marquess.”

“I don’t believe that’s the recommendation you believe it to be, dear,” Charlotte said.

The smell of gin rolled off the lemonade, nearly turning her stomach. She had never cared for the stuff.

“He keeps looking over this way,” Lily said, peering around Charlotte and waggling her brows. “I thought he was engaged.”

Kate placed her hand on Lily’s arm and steered her closer toward the dance floor. “He was. The poor man has a broken heart.”

Charlotte tried slipping away, wishing desperately to fade into the background. She didn’t care for the gossip, and while Kate and Lily teased one another, Charlotte was ready to retire for the evening. There were too many people, too many conversations… The noise was overwhelming, and her dress felt too small, or maybe it was only that she felt like she was moments away from crying.

“Charlotte?” Lily asked. “Are you well?”

“Try all you like, Lottie, but my goal this evening is to see you on the dance floor.”

“You and my mother,” Charlotte mumbled. “I don’t wish to dance. I swear I have two left feet.”

Lily crossed her arms. “That’s impossible.”

“I didn’t mean it literally.”

“He’s coming this way,” Kate warned.

Charlotte turned and adjusted the feathers adorning Kate’s black hair. “You are beautiful. Duchess Kate has a lovely ring to it.”

“No, no.” Kate blushed, shaking her head. “No, he’s—” Her eyes went wide as Charlotte nervously took a sip of lemonade.

“Good evening, ladies.”

Charlotte jumped, hearing the low voice so incredibly close to her, choking on her drink. As she spun, she sputtered her lemonade over the chest in front of her and the lovely vest adorning it.

“Confound it,” she whispered, mortified .

She ignored the deep chuckle that washed over her like the warm afternoon sun. If only the dance floor would open up and swallow her, she might survive this moment with a shred of dignity.

“I am so sorry, Your Grace,” she said as Lily and Kate attempted to calm her in staged whispers.

“I’m afraid it’s poor etiquette on my part to walk over without a proper introduction, but I must know, what’s your name?” he asked.

Charlotte couldn’t look him in the eye, instead focusing on his fine leather riding boots.

Lily nudged her from behind as Kate gently kicked the back of her calf. Charlotte tipped forward, nearly colliding with the man.

“Are you having an enjoyable time this evening, Your Grace?” Kate said.

Look up, Lottie. Look up.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to claim so,” he gloomed.

At that, Charlotte shot her glance upward, instantly regretting it. It was worse than she had originally feared. A wickedly handsome man, nearly dripping in refinement and sin, studied her. Dark eyes, obsidian almost, and the most beautiful face…

“I apologize, Your Grace. I am most?—”

“Your name,” he insisted, leaning closer.

Lily giggled behind her.

When Charlotte discovered the use of her words once more, she would make sure that her friends never so thoroughly embarrassed her again.

“Oh, Your Grace,” Charlotte’s mother interrupted, her straw-colored hair adorned with a plume of feathers to give her petite frame more height, and her pert mouth always drawn tight. She tapped her fan against Charlotte’s arm. “I am so pleased to see you this evening. It has been an age since I’ve seen your mother. How is she?”

Charlotte remained silent as she noted the small tick along the duke’s jaw. She was certain she had never seen someone so wholly beautiful in her life, nearly flawless.

“Lady Drake, I do not know. It has been some time since we last spoke. ”

Layered between the bitterness and contempt in his answer lingered the slightest hint of desolation.

Curious, that.

“I am certain it was difficult after your father’s passing.”

“Is this your daughter?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Her mother nodded, grinning. “Yes, Your Grace. This is my daughter, Lady Charlotte. Charlotte, allow me to introduce you to the Duke of Dandridge.”

“Your Grace,” Charlotte said, nodding slightly.

The entire time, she felt his dark eyes on her. Somehow, they felt like a caress. It left her a little breathless. Or maybe it was only the lemonade.

She took another nervous sip, peeking at him from over her glass.

“I came to ask for the next dance,” he said.

Kate reached over and plucked the cup out of Charlotte’s hand. “She would love to dance, Your Grace.”

Charlotte whirled around, panic consuming her, wishing to have her lemonade back. What was she to do? Dance with this man? No, no. Absolutely not.

“Go on,” Lily whispered, nudging her forward. “We’ll be here waiting when the dance is over.”

She glanced behind her mother and friends, their eyes wide with eager anticipation even as her stomach sank.

He offered her his elbow, his eyes all but demanding she accept. And it wasn’t that she didn’t wish to, but dancing in a crowded ballroom sounded anything but pleasant.

“I do not bite,” he said, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

With a steadying breath, she slipped her kid glove over the fine black wool of his jacket. “It is my experience, Your Grace, that whenever someone must share such a disclaimer, there is reason to believe it.”

Charlotte had been paraded around London plenty by her parents, so it was strange she had never met the duke before this night. And as little as she knew of him, she found herself equally interested in discovering more .

Maybe it was the sly grin that hid in the curve of his lips or his dark, heated stare. Either way, she couldn’t quite get over how handsome he was, which only led her to question why, in a room full of beautiful and outgoing debutantes, he desired to dance with her. Especially when she had been content to fade away against the wall like the shy wallflower that she was.

“I must apologize in advance. I am not?—”

He shook his head. “No, no disclaimers, Lady Charlotte.”

Very well. She stepped aside, lining up with the other dancers, taking the opportunity to appraise the man from head to toe. Unfortunately, he was magnificent. Irritating, that.

As the music started, she pulled her shoulders back and pretended ballrooms were nothing to be afraid of, or sinfully handsome dance partners. Maybe it was the gin in the lemonade, but when his hand reached for hers, the worries quieted, and her pulse thrummed in her ears.

“Too much time has passed, Lady Charlotte, and I need to tell you…”

They broke apart, and she ducked and weaved around another dance partner before her hand landed in his once more. Her eyes snapped to his as he inched closer, pressing their palms flat against one another.

“Tell me?” she whispered.

“How beautiful you are tonight. I needed to speak to you.”

Charlotte fought back a nervous giggle, suddenly distracted by the closeness of his mouth. “Imagine my surprise. I was attempting to hide.”

“Hmm, a wallflower. But I have bad news for you.”

She followed his lead, dancing down the line.

“What’s that, Your Grace?”

“You are impossible to miss.”

That she knew. She felt ridiculous in the yellow dress her mother had made for her. Was he teasing?

She remained silent, unsure of what to say. She was not as skilled when it came to flirtation as Kate or Lily. Plants were difficult to flirt with.

When the music ended, she searched for a path to flee from the ballroom, certain she needed some air to clear her head or calm her nerves. Anything to put some distance between herself and the duke.

Except he reached out for her hand, spinning her to face him in the middle of the crowded ballroom. “Have I said something wrong?”

She shook her head and licked her lips before meeting his piercing obsidian gaze. Her fingers tingled as if aching to steal another touch, and her stomach fluttered as thoughts tumbled around in her head.

It was surely the gin and not the duke addressing her as if she were the only one in the room. As if the rest of the din was miles away, and they were sharing a private moment over the breakfast table. Like their breakfast table. The familiarity of it was quite strange and altogether tempting.

“Would you like to dance again, Lady Charlotte?”

“I believe that wouldn’t be a wise decision, Your Grace. The others…”

“I don’t care for their opinions, only yours. And I know I don’t wish to let you go.”

His thumb gently traced circles over the back of her hand. Even from beneath kid gloves, she felt the heat of his caress.

Pure temptation.

“Your Grace?” she whispered, glancing up at him, her mouth parted. “I do not care for parties or balls or much for dancing.”

Charlotte was far too warm and too flustered by his attention. And yet, she couldn’t find another reason, especially when she surprised herself at the moment and wished to agree.

“Say yes.”

“I have a feeling you are not in the habit of hearing no. Whatever will you do if I refuse?”

The smallest grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, the effect devastating to Charlotte’s wavering resolve.

“Do you want me to beg? ”

Charlotte laughed, glancing up at the ceiling, the gin finally settling into her limbs and making her feel as if she were floating.

“I’ve never seen a duke beg before. I wasn’t aware it was possible.”

“Anything is possible, Lady Charlotte. That is the thing I enjoy most about being a duke.”

She coyly looked away as the band struck up.

“Say yes,” he urged again, leaning closer. “I have never seen anyone so beautiful in my life, and I wish to keep you in my arms as long as socially acceptable.”

“Then I believe you mean to propose marriage.”

“You are teasing me, Lady Charlotte.”

“It’s possible, though most of my conversations are with plants not dukes.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Plants?”

Beyond her better judgment, she continued, “Mother claims it is unladylike, but I enjoy gardening and collecting rare plants. I…”

She stopped herself, wishing once more that she could slip away and disappear. How perfectly mortifying admitting her best companions were green? He could speak to anyone in this room, have his choice of any debutante, and instead she was prattling on about plants?

“What is your favorite among them?”

The question disarmed her, so much so she barely noticed he had been slowly drawing them out onto the dance floor until he backed away and stood in line with the other dancers. Her smug duke winked at her as she quickly glanced left and right and found herself in line for another quadrille.

Yes, he was temptation and more. He left her curious, and dare she say, nearly fearless, as she reached out and accepted his outstretched hand.

“I have a great many, Your Grace. I wish to be surrounded by them.”

“Name them so I may secure them all for you.”

“What a pretty thought. ”

“Lady Charlotte, you only need to say the word. I will make you the happiest woman in all London.”

“I’m dreaming,” she whispered, feeling her lips as she pulled away as the music ended.

“No, you and I are only beginning.”

Charlotte laughed, edging back, testing if he would follow her. He moved like her shadow, stalking toward her, handsome and determined. She was nearly giddy.

Yes, it must be the lemonade.

“May I call on you tomorrow?”

She nodded, knowing full well she would be touring the art gallery with her father, the Earl of Drake.

He gave her a courtly nod. “Then tomorrow you will tell me.”

Charlotte tested that word on her lips— tomorrow , as if it was some unanswered prayer, some promise. It was certainly worth more than the lemonade which made her head fuzzy. Her heart beat in her chest as he smiled that wickedly decadent half smile once more.

Tomorrow.

Charlotte glanced around, searching for some constant in the room, but everyone moved around and carried on, unaware her life had just been completely upended. The duke stood a few feet apart, altogether polite and respectable, but it didn’t explain the thoughts racing through her head—like where to find the nearest alcove or balcony. That wasn’t Charlotte. Kate, perhaps. But Charlotte was meant to be up against the wall, watching everyone else enjoy their night, not have a handsome man waiting on her every word.

“I do believe you have wicked intentions, Your Grace,” she said, only half teasing.

“My brother is the rake, Lady Charlotte.”

“Dukes are upstanding characters, then?”

“I can be if that is what you wish.”

She laughed, resting her face in her hands. Her cheeks were burning, and she couldn’t shed the ridiculous smile on her lips.

“I don’t know what I wish for in this life.”

“That is a crime. ”

“Do you?”

“I know I want a wife, not out of duty but out of affection. I know I want to travel. And I know I will strive to live each day as if it is a gift and not a burden.”

“See,” she said, shrugging. “I almost didn’t believe you, but there you go, redeeming yourself. What lovely answers.”

“I mean them sincerely.”

Charlotte sobered. “I know.” She quickly peeked over her shoulder, then back to the duke, overcome with an inexplicable knowing. She could play coy, or she could own up to the fact that she liked this gentleman. It seemed beyond reason when they had only just met. And yet it felt as though she had been waiting for him on the side of the ballroom.

He tilted his head, then narrowed his dark eyes on her. Lovely, sensuous eyes.

“Shall we step outside a moment? Do you need more lemonade?—”

“Heavens,” she laughed. “No, no more lemonade.” Stepping out into some fresh air, however chilly, might suffice though. “Some air would be nice, yes.”

The duke offered her his arm. She glanced around, then slipped her hand through his elbow and was led out to the balcony where several others remained in the dim candlelight thrown from the ballroom.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She meant to say more, but his eyes raked over her lips, and she nearly forgot where she was.

A gentleman, indeed.

A thrill shot through her belly.

“You are a lovely dancer,” he said once they reached the balcony.

“There is no need to lie, Your Grace.”

“I wouldn’t have danced with you again if you weren’t.”

Charlotte tucked in a curl by her ear. “I don’t believe that recommends much about your character.”

“I find pleasure in all things but especially dancing. It is not wrong to strive for perfection.”

“No.” She looked away, out into the dark gardens where a woman’s reputation lay in peril. And though she was still within sight, still at a respectable distance from the duke, she wondered if it was too late. If she had, unknowingly, wandered off the path. “But it is a foolish endeavor when joy can exist without.”

“I could listen to you talk all night.”

“I often don’t talk at all. I can’t seem to stop myself around you.”

“Please, don’t.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes combing over his features, searching for anything that made sense. But nothing did this evening. And there was only so much she could blame on the gin in the lemonade.

“Tomorrow?” he asked again. “Tomorrow, may I call on you?”

Without thinking, Charlotte reached up and pressed a soft kiss against his lips, earning her a low growl from the back of his throat. His hand curled around her waist and gathered her against him. He drew them farther into the shadows, away from the others, hidden in a small alcove behind a large stone pillar.

“If you wish to kiss me, then let’s not do it in half measures, Lady Charlotte.”

He cradled her cheek in his warm palm, gently pressing his thumb beneath her chin to draw her gaze up to his. “Kiss me, well and truly, and I promise, you will never kiss another.”

“Please don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Your Grace.”

“Never.”