Prologue

PROLOGUE

London

March 1822

Kate hid her smile with another bite of lemon trifle. Her cheeks blazed hot from his attention, nevertheless, even as the bright citrus custard danced across her tongue.

This was no girlish fancy. No, she was quite certain she was in love with the Marquess of Brookhouse. And only yesterday while they rode through Hyde Park, he had proposed marriage.

She agreed, even when he pressed her to keep it a secret. That he needed more time to sort out some family matters, and for the time being, they would share an understanding.

When a handsome man makes a lady his world, she waits. Or so Kate vowed to do. She flashed him coy smiles all evening, desperate to take a moment to speak to him alone. Desperate that he might finally steal a kiss from her.

Well, not steal exactly. It would be freely given.

After all, their courtship had been only a few weeks. To say it had been a whirlwind romance would do a grave disservice to whirlwind romances the world over. No, their love was all-encompassing. It was mad passion. It was as if nothing else mattered. He was the very first person she thought of in the morning and the last before she fell asleep.

The marquess was that kind of man. So perfectly handsome. Even tonight, with his fine Saville Row jacket and buckskins and that left dimple of his that popped out right before he winked at her. The wicked, delicious man.

An hour later, after the dinner and dessert courses were finished, Kate rose from the table, feeling his warm honey eyes on her. She had purposefully worn her new red gown this evening, shrugging when her mother fussed over the low-cut bodice. It didn’t matter if her hair was a mess of black curls, or she possessed startling gray eyes. The marquess didn’t even object to the freckles that dotted her cheeks. And why would he when she intentionally displayed her bosom for him to admire?

It wasn’t as if it was a secret Kate was beautiful. She knew she was, but that didn’t stop her from becoming annoyed at how she wasn’t as fair-haired or petite as the other debutantes.

Two Seasons had passed, as well as several marriage proposals. And she had refused each, much to the disappointment of her family. But she was so glad of it now. Since her coming-out, she had harbored a crush on the marquess. Now he not only knew she existed, but he wished for her to be his wife.

A thrill shot up her spine as he watched her exit to the drawing room with the rest of the women. She craved the heat in his eyes and that smile laden with appreciation.

“Excuse me, Miss Bancroft, did you drop this?” he called out after her.

She paused, certain she hadn’t dropped anything, then grinned as she looked up and saw that he held the handkerchief she had given him yesterday.

The clever devil.

“Yes, thank you, Lord Brookhouse.” She cast her eyes down to the floor, her heart fluttering in her chest. The very nearness of him completely undid her. Kate had a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, and somehow the marquess blunted that. She melted around him like an ice from Gunter’s in the summer.

His fingers brushed against hers for a moment too long. The heat of his skin seeped through the silk of her gloves, stoking a fire in her core. This silly, girlish desire was consuming her in the strangest ways.

When she glanced back up, the corner of his mouth kicked up in a sinful grin. “You look lovely,” he whispered.

She pulled the handkerchief from his hand. She felt the crisp edge of a slip of paper against her palm.

“Thank you,” Kate said, clearing her throat. Everything within her whirred around, and she was certain the dining room had suddenly been transported to some far-off tropical locale. Her body burned and buzzed with anticipation.

The marquess nodded, his eyes heavy-lidded before he spun on his feet and returned to his friends, calling out for more port.

Kate hurried out to the hallway and fell back into the shadows, opening the small slip of paper that asked for her to meet him in the garden in half an hour.

Women across London knew never to step foot into a garden at night unchaperoned. Only trouble awaited that decision.

But Kate wouldn’t say no. For better or worse, she followed her heart, and her heart wanted the marquess. They were to be married anyhow. She saw no harm in spending a few stolen minutes outside, alone with her secret fiancé.

“Kate, darling,” her friend Charlotte called out to her as she entered the drawing room. “That dress is lovely.”

Charlotte Gairdner, otherwise known as the Duchess of Dandridge, had known Kate since they were young girls. Along with their friend, Lily, they were an inseparable trio. While Lily lived to study the stars and often had her nose in a book, Charlotte was much more maternal, always patient and wise. Which was terribly unfortunate given she was married to the ghastliest man ever to become a duke in England.

Luckily, he made himself sparse wherever Charlotte was around. This was also unfortunate because, as of late, she was very interested in Kate’s budding relationship with the marquess.

“I don’t feel well,” Kate sputtered, her mind racing ahead and searching for a clock in the drawing room.

“Would you like to go home? You can take my carriage. In fact, why don’t we both leave? I don’t mind.” She set down her tea and wiggled closer to the edge of the settee as if to stand.

Panic drummed in Kate’s ears. “No, no.” She cleared her throat. “No, there is no need.”

Charlotte peered up at her with large blue eyes. Waiting. “Kate?”

She felt the eyes of the other guests shift toward her, and suddenly she wished to be anywhere other than standing before the duchess, about to be lectured to as if she was a spoiled child. Instead, she smiled and straightened her shoulders, refusing to allow anyone to make her feel smaller.

“Miss Bancroft?” Lady Cranbourne inquired from beside her collection of beloved orchids.

The plump older woman wore her hair in a mess of silver and blonde curls, adorned by a plume headdress of ostrich feathers and pearl cordons.

Kate turned, thankful for the interruption.

“How is your brother?”

“Which one, Lady Cranbourne?” She smiled, resting her hands on her knees, attempting to stay still. It felt as if she were floating. “I have two.”

“The one who isn’t married,” Lady Cranbourne tsked , reaching for her sherry from the elaborate tulipwood table as if exasperated. A polite chuckle rippled around the drawing room.

“Oh, last I heard he was in Greece having one adventure or another of some sort.”

“When will he return to London? It is time for him to find a bride.”

“And my mother well knows it,” Kate said with a laugh. “Which is precisely why I would hazard to guess he is in Greece at the moment with no immediate plans to leave.”

“Men,” Miss Aarons mumbled at the card table. The petite woman pushed the wire-rimmed spectacles up her long Romanesque nose and pressed her thin lips into a frown. “All the good eligible ones always seem preoccupied with anything other than finding a bride. Meanwhile, finding a husband is only what we women must do.”

“Which is our mistake, ladies.” Kate glanced toward the mantel, smiling as the clock ticked closer to her rendezvous.

The other women stared back, puzzled.

“It’s not as if we can’t enjoy ourselves while we seek a husband. We all know we must search for one. How can we ever believe in love if we cannot believe in ourselves?”

“That is rather optimistic of you, Miss Bancroft.”

Charlotte stood, slowly padding over to her friend. She hooked her arm through Kate’s elbow and glanced up at her, flashing a kind smile. “I think that was rather well said and inspiring.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Not everyone is allowed a love match,” Miss Aarons continued to mumble at the card table.

“Love match or no,” Kate said, “I don’t see how that matters. You are still your own person whether in or out of love.”

Charlotte steered her closer to the mantel. “No need to draw everyone’s ire against you,” she whispered.

“It is good advice.”

Charlotte nodded. “It is until you find yourself about to be married. Then you will discover there are many other questions to ask.”

Kate shrugged, desperate to slip out of the room. Desperate to slip into the marquess’s arms and kiss him until she didn’t care about the judgment of others.

“I have a question for you.”

“I don’t believe I have an answer,” Kate said, laughing softly. She already knew what was going to be asked. And she refused to listen.

“I heard you went for a ride with the Marquess of Brookhouse the other day.”

“Oh?”

“Do you read the gossip sheets? You made an appearance. ”

“For going on a ride? I had a chaperone. That is hardly worthy of gossip.”

“You went for a ride with London’s most notorious rake. Must I remind you of his laundry list of scandals, my dear?”

“I am being careful,” Kate said, scratching her neck. She refused to look Charlotte in the eyes in case she confessed everything. Which was likely. She had the worst time keeping secrets from her.

“He is not to be trusted.”

“He is a perfect gentleman with me. It’s not like you to judge others, Charlotte.”

“I am not judging when he has a history of making a mess of things. He is irresponsible and careless with others. He has large gambling debts, and I heard a rumor that while on a trip to Bath last spring?—”

“Charlotte, there is no need to worry.”

With a sigh, Charlotte turned her back toward the rest of the room and smiled. “Very well. How are you feeling?”

For a moment, Kate almost forgot. But she wrapped her arms around her middle and declared she wasn’t feeling well.

“What’s the matter?” Lady Cranbourne asked.

“Headache,” Kate answered matter-of-factly. She would never be ready to tread the boards of Drury Lane, but she could feign a headache when needed.

“Oh,” her hostess said, standing up. She swept in and led Kate away. “If you need a carriage, please let me know. But for now, let’s go upstairs and you can lie down. Perhaps that’s all you need.”

Kate glanced behind her, cursing to herself as Charlotte stood there in the room with a look that was all too knowing.

But she would be fine. Everything would be fine.

Once settled, Kate paced the dark room, ready to make her escape. He would be waiting, and she would now be late. What if he left, and she was discovered sneaking around the garden alone? What if he grew upset with her for being late?

Thankfully, her escape happened without incident. She slipped out into the chilly March night with her shawl clutched tightly around her. She could see her breath in the air as her slippers sped down the stone steps into the formal gardens below.

A hand slipped around her waist, and she was hauled back into a solid wall of flesh. “There you are. I thought you wouldn’t come.”

She smiled to herself in the dark before she spun and faced him, his handsome features well lit by the moon shining bright in the night sky.

“Really? You doubted me?” She pulled on a pout for effect. To her delight, it worked. He growled softly under his breath and gripped her waist with both hands.

“I won’t now.”

She pressed her lips together, studying him. He was so perfectly stunning, and he was hers.

“As you should.”

“You look absolutely ravishing tonight. I couldn’t take my eyes off you at dinner. Remind me to send my compliments to your modiste. That dress…”

“Thank you. It was a horribly long dinner.”

“I don’t want to talk about dinner.”

She wished nothing else but to press her lips against his then. Instead, she played coy. He liked it when she did so. “Why not? I really enjoyed?—”

“I’m going to kiss you now, Princess. Shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

Desire unfurled in her body, starting in her core and racing outward toward her limbs. It might as well have been a balmy August evening with how her body burned. Except for Princess. She didn’t care for that pet name. And she would need to remind him to say something else later. Much later, after he…

The marquess’s lips pressed down against hers, and a dizzying rush buzzed through her body as she raced to match his movements. His lips were warm and soft, and she understood then how he had earned his reputation. The marquess was a skilled kisser.

She had only kissed Tommy Cormac behind a curtain at a ball last spring. And that had been a generous press of her lips against his before she rushed out and fetched lemonade with her friends.

This kiss. This kiss slowly took her apart, piece by piece until she was not sure if she was standing or if she was outside on a cold March day.

“You taste delicious,” he whispered against her ear, slipping his fingers beneath the fabric of her dress to expose the curve of her left shoulder. “And your skin is so soft.”

She closed her eyes and melted against the wall, offering herself up to him with abandon. It was reckless, and yet she couldn’t get herself to care at the moment when it felt so good.

His lips trailed up her neck, and he sucked at the indent beneath her jaw and ear. It was the most wicked kiss of all.

“Hugh, please.”

He didn’t pause, instead tugging her dress down lower. His hands quickly covered her skin, greedy and hungry to explore it all.

In the back of her mind, she knew they must stop, even if she didn’t wish to. And the cold was beginning to set in, and her toes were freezing. And yet she nipped at his earlobe and slipped her hands behind his back to pull him closer, unsure of the end this madness would come to, but forging ahead nevertheless.

“Kiss me again,” she said, staring up at the grand Mayfair house of the Cranbournes.

“I wish to do more than kiss you.” He moved his mouth off hers quickly, then ducked down, kissing her neck and forcing her to look upward at the night sky as his face sank lower. His mouth pressed against her rounded breasts, almost spilling out of her stays. “Allow me to take you home this evening. Come sneak away with me. What an adventure it can be to be wicked.”

He finally pulled the sleeves of her dress down full, and she gasped at the cold air licking her skin. A warm room would be better, as desire pulsed between her legs.

“I love that sound, Princess. Do it again for me.”

The marquess hauled her up against the wall, pinning her hips with his. She felt his erection through his magnificent buckskins. The feel of it against her made her lose what little control she had left as he continued to tug on her dress until her bodice was pulled down, somehow managing to free her breast.

“How did you…?” She was certain she was about to finish that question before he dipped down and took her nipple in his mouth and lightly sucked. She moaned his name, bucking her hips against his. He touched her as if he wanted to know every part of her, and she was willing. So very willing.

“You damn scoundrel,” a voice growled by the shadows. “Step away from her now.”

The marquess stopped and sucked in a deep breath, releasing Kate to the ground. She was hit with a jolt, her pulse drumming in her ears. She reached for him, desperate to have him close, to have him help. Instead, he stepped away, leaving her exposed.

She cursed, spinning around to right herself. She couldn’t manage the dress without help, and the marquess continued to walk away. She was about to interject before she heard the sickening crunch of flesh. Kate peeked over her shoulder as the marquess and Lord Cranbourne tussled, throwing punches.

“Stop!” she yelled. She managed her dress and then made sure she was covered with a shawl before she reached over and tried to separate the two grown men.

“You’re going to marry her,” Lord Cranbourne growled. The balding older man glowered under thick, bushy brows. “The both of you, in my study, now.”

“Of course, we’re going to be married,” she said.

But the marquess lagged behind, scratching his jaw.

“You’re going to damn well marry her,” Lord Cranbourne shouted, pointing his finger at the marquess. The candlelight sparked off the black signet ring on his pinky. “I will not allow a blackguard like you to ruin a woman at my home without you doing the honorable thing. I will not allow it.”

“We’re engaged,” she said, pleading to Lord Cranbourne. “We have an understanding. ”

The marquess stood, not saying a word. Instead, his shoulders rose and fell as he caught his breath.

“He has no intention of marrying you, Miss Bancroft.”

She ran up to the marquess, grabbing for his hand, yet he pulled away, disgusted. “Say something! Tell him what you promised me.”

“His promises mean nothing, Miss Bancroft. Which is precisely why he already has three bastard children, and why, at the very least, he’s interested in securing your family support.”

Wait, what? Her palms were sweaty and her mouth dry, and she was certain she had been having the best night until they were interrupted.

“Hugh, please.”

“You will marry her,” Lord Cranbourne insisted again. He waved his arm toward the marquess, so caught up in his anger he nearly tripped over himself. “Say it now.”

For a man who had only moments earlier burned brighter than the August sun, March settled in and froze Kate to her core as the marquess retreated another step. His honey-brown eyes, normally filled with warmth, lost their fire, setting her adrift.

“In my office,” Lord Cranbourne repeated.

The marquess removed a cheroot from his jacket, then struck a match, focused solely on that one pleasure, leaving Kate to volley her attention between the two men stuck in some power struggle. No, she wouldn’t allow this to happen. She wouldn’t stand by while everyone else determined her fate.

She ran up to the marquess, grabbed the cheroot from his mouth, and slapped him across the face, before turning to Lord Cranbourne. “Whatever you have to say, you best say it here. I don’t believe he will be joining us inside.”

“Ow,” the marquess muttered from behind her. “I want that back.”

Kate glanced over her shoulder, heaved a sigh, then stood akimbo as Lord Cranbourne studied them both.

“Brookhouse, there is a lady present, and it’s cold out. Not that you seemed to care earlier, but perhaps this would be best discussed inside. ”

“I don’t wish to discuss it at all.”

Kate quickly shot her foot backward into his shin.

“Act like that if you wish,” he hissed, coming to stand beside her. “But I have no intention of marrying you. And since Lord Cranbourne here is insisting on making a fuss of what he discovered instead of turning his back”—he turned to stare the older gentleman in the eye—”as he should have, then I will be the villain. Kate, go back inside. See that she is warm. And stuff whatever speech you were about to make about a special license. It’s not necessary. I have another engagement, and I don’t wish to be late.”

“Another engagement? You just compromised Miss Bancroft. What more can you possibly do tonight?”

“A duel.”

The Marquess of Brookhouse narrowed his dark eyes on Kate, once so full of passion for her, yet void of any feeling now because they had been caught. Then with a nod, he spun and took off through the garden, exiting out into the London night, free to do as he wished.

“Miss Bancroft, come inside. Is there someone I can fetch for you?”

“The duchess, please.”

“Of course.” And Lord Cranbourne held his arm out, ushering her up the stone stairs, back into the grand house. “Come this way so no one will see, and we can slip quietly into my office.”

“I wish to return home.”

He nodded, clearing his throat. “In due time, yes. Tonight, however, we must discuss how best to handle what just occurred. I will have your father summoned.”

Her father?

Kate was cold and miserable and didn’t wish to speak to Lord Cranbourne, never mind Charlotte, who would likely have much to say about tonight’s events. But at the mention of her father, her stomach sank. He would be furious, but worse, he would be disappointed.

She was led inside and settled in a chair, but after a moment, sitting was insufferable. Kate sprang to her feet and paced in front of the fire, fussing with the sleeve of her dress and adjusting her shawl .

The marquess refused to marry her? He would change his mind. He was embarrassed, surely. They had allowed their passion to cloud their judgment. That was all. It was nothing but young love. And he would come back and make things right.

“Please, will you have a seat?” Lord Cranbourne asked, entering the room and walking to the sideboard.

“I would prefer to stand, please.”

The older man paused and pressed his wide lips together in annoyance, before pouring himself a drink. “I expected better from you and the marquess.”

Lady Cranbourne and Charlotte swept in next.

“What’s happened?” The older woman cried, reaching her arms out toward Kate. “I will not tolerate such horrible behavior.” Then she turned to her husband and glared. “I knew we should have left the marquess off the guest list.”

Charlotte stood a few paces away, her arms folded. It turned out it wouldn’t be her father’s disappointment that gutted Kate, but rather her dear friend’s.

“I witnessed the Marquess of Brookstone and Miss Bancroft in a rather compromising situation.”

Kate gripped the mantel as Lady Cranbourne gasped. “Oh, that is most disappointing to hear. Your mother! Your poor mother! What a scandal.”

“We will do our best to keep it quiet for a day or so,” the older man continued, “but the marquess must marry her. It is the honorable thing to do.”

Lady Cranbourne clasped her hands together. “I agree. Where is he?”

Silence fell between the group. Silence and disappointment and Kate’s shame. There wasn’t nearly enough room for the shame consuming her, ripping her heart to shreds with each breath.

“He left,” she said, closing her eyes. The room tilted. Ruined and left, and the cad fled without a care.

“I am sorry. What was that, dear?” Charlotte walked up and embraced her. Kate sucked in another breath, but there was no room for that either. She was suffocating. She would die in front of the Cranbournes and Charlotte, and the marquess was gone.

He had promised to marry her. He had whispered such sweet assurances to her, declaring that he had been a fool to have been so blind to her beauty since her debut. He had spoken to her as she imagined a husband would to a wife with such illicit, sinful, and delightful flirtations.

And now he was gone. He had left her the moment it mattered most.

“He’s at a duel,” she laughed, pulling back to study Charlotte’s face. “He promised to marry me on that ride in the park, Lottie. I swear it.”

Charlotte pulled her close and still it was near impossible to breathe. Her heart drummed in her chest as a cold numbness settled in, and Lord Cranbourne’s office faded from view. She wasn’t sure if she would crumble there on the floor, or if she could somehow find the strength to wait for her father and discuss some trivial thing like the weather.

“I understand you wish to see this matter resolved, Lord Cranbourne,” Charlotte said, still holding Kate in her arms. Such a warm, unforgiving embrace. “And we will. Allow me to convey her home to her parents, and we will meet again in the morning, once the marquess has been apprehended. He cannot be allowed to ruin Kate and hide away from the consequences of his actions.”

“What will the papers say?” Lady Cranbourne clasped her husband’s hand. “We will forever be tied to this scandal. Tread carefully, dear husband.”

“Your Grace, I do not believe that is best.” He tugged on his vest, glancing at his wife who nodded encouragingly. “It is a matter that must be dealt with swiftly.”

“I agree, my lord. Which is why I will resolve this in the morning. If you wish to help, you can do so by fetching the marquess from wherever he is in London. I will be in touch with more details once I’ve returned home.”

“Your Grace, I am begging you to reconsider.”

Kate nearly never heard Charlotte use what she affectionately teased as her duchess voice, but in a calm, cold slip of strength, her friend used it perfectly by saying, “I will see everyone involved dealt with in an efficient manner. You and your wife do not need to worry about your name being tarnished. This matter will not reach the papers. My carriage is to be ready momentarily, Kate. Say goodbye to our gracious hosts.”

If Kate spoke then, she did not remember doing so. Nor did she remember climbing into the carriage or if Charlotte spoke to her. She only knew it was far too cold to be out in London, and she wished to be in bed and to breathe once more.

She blinked hard as they drove by the park. Certain she wasn’t seeing what was there before her.

“Lottie,” she whispered. She tried again, her voice sticking in her throat.

“What’s that, dear?”

“There, he’s there. Look.”

“Wait, stop the carriage,” Charlotte called out.

Kate threw open the door and jumped out as a mob gathered around the entrance of the park. She ran forward, elbowing her way through the onlookers.

“Someone fetch a surgeon!” a man shouted.

“You shouldn’t be here, miss. Miss!”

Kate ignored the man, half certain it was another guest from dinner. Everyone looked familiar. Even as the night tilted and her stomach soured, she pushed through and saw the marquess on the ground with a bleeding wound in his midsection.

“Stay away from him,” another man cautioned, throwing his arms toward her. “He is bleeding out.”

Hugh remained motionless, his face pale. His jacket and vest were open, revealing a growing red circle seeping across his white shirt.

“No, no, no,” she whispered, falling to her knees. She gripped his vest and shook hard, forcing him awake.

She wouldn’t allow him to die and leave her ruined.