Chapter One

Edinburgh, 1816

F inlay Primrose was never one for garden parties, or any party really. But yet, such a gathering is where the Earl of Rosebery currently found himself. Duty mandated his attendance, not want.

He surveyed the well-manicured grounds as he sipped the champagne he had snatched from one of the trays being carried by the staff of the Duke of Forthington. An old acquaintance whose wife had insisted on this party to celebrate the recent birth of their son.

He masked a grimace as the liquid bubbled down his throat. There was a time when he enjoyed the effervescence of champagne, but he much preferred whisky now. Though neither did anything to cool him from the heat of the sun. Why did they always insist on having these parties at the peak of day?

Fingal, Finlay's twin brother, and his wife, Yvette, were nowhere in sight and Finlay breathed a sigh of relief. After all, his ne'er-do-well brother was one of the reasons Finlay was even here. Their late father was the other, with his ridiculous demand that Finlay wed before his next birthday—or lose the title to his younger brother. It would be a devastating turn of events for such a thing to come to fruition. Especially with how irresponsible his brother was.

He would not allow such a travesty to happen. Once again, for the umpteenth time, he found himself cursing his father and his damned will. What kind of person included such a clause? A person who still wanted to rule his sons' lives even from the grave, that's what kind.

"My lord," Lady Ruddiman interrupted his thoughts.

He rolled his lips inward to stop a biting remark to tell her that he had no interest in what she was about to offer. Which was most likely the lass dragging her feet behind her mother who, as if on a mission, trudged toward him. This very scenario was why he usually avoided these types of gatherings. Instead, he bowed politely and gave the woman a half-hearted smile that he didn't feel.

Taking no notice of his disinterest, the buxom woman curtsied in return, her hair piled so haphazardly high on her head, he feared it might topple over. Blonde ringlets fell in front of each ear. Emeralds encased in gold dangled and swayed back and forth from her earlobes with each step she took.

"May I introduce ye to my daughter?" She tugged on the gloved hand of the lass cowering behind her. The lass stumbled forward, her cheeks pink with embarrassment as she caught her footing. "Miss Cordelia Ruddiman," Lady Ruddiman said proudly, a huge smile plastered on her overly powdered face, made more prominent by the harsh red rouge she had rubbed onto her cheeks.

To her credit, the lass acted through the steps that she had no doubt been taught for years now, preparing her for her introduction into society. She dipped into a curtsy and looked up at him through lowered lashes.

The lass was pleasant enough. Unlike her mother, her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed. Her cheeks perfectly rouged. Lips perfectly tinted. She could be what he was looking for in a wife.

But her smile did not reach her eyes. Her persona far too meek. It was as if she wanted to be anywhere but where they were. Which he could appreciate. That was more than likely the one and only sentiment they shared.

He cleared his throat and bowed his acknowledgement. "'Tis lovely to meet ye, Miss Ruddiman. I do hope ye are enjoying your afternoon."

"Aye, my lord. Verra much so."

As she spoke, Finlay noted the waver in her voice. The falter in her smile as she looked up at him. Aye, her attendance was most definitely not her idea. Unfortunately for her, it seemed marrying off her daughter was what was most important to Lady Ruddiman. Her daughter's unwillingness to be committed to a man mattered naught.

Finlay felt bad for the poor lass. He had seen enough young women enter into society and he kenned it was not easy. Some lasses handled it better than others. But being forced into it before one was ready struck him as unwarranted and a bit cruel.

Miss Ruddiman appeared young in both mind and age. The lass could not be more than ten and seven. Which was much too young for him and far from what he was looking for. He wanted a wife that had some spark to her. A wife that would challenge him. Not one that would just bend and break to whatever he said. Which was what Miss Ruddiman would surely do.

Though he had no interest in Miss Ruddiman, he was sure she would find a match this season—just not with him.

Not wanting to engage in more conversation or open the door for future enquiries, he excused himself and walked to the outer perimeter of the garden, staying away from the crowd, deftly avoiding meeting the eyes of the den of lionesses trying to marry off their daughters to him or one of the other eligible bachelors in attendance. He tugged on his cravat, tilting his head to the side and took a deep breath. He was beginning to feel like an animal in a cage. He longed for the solace of his study. But hiding away at his estate would not get him what he needed.

Two months. That was when he turned twenty-eight. By that time, he needed to be married. If not, Fingal became earl and Finlay refused to let that happen. His twin had never shown any interest in the Primrose family affairs, whether it be their holdings or their finances. Instead he focused all his interest in whoring his way through the city—until he had found his wife and even still he wouldn't be surprised if Fingal still had dalliances while continuing to burn his way through the family fortune. His brother had nearly failed out of Eton, for God's sake. He would have if their father had not stepped in with a sizeable donation to the school. How that in itself didn't stop their father from putting his ridiculous plan forward, he would never understand.

Money was not an issue for the Primroses. But that did not mean that Fingal would not set them on a path of destruction. Even the greatest houses could fall under the right circumstances.

Fingal Primrose and his new wife were the last people that Rosewood Manor needed. Yvette was a nice enough lass, but had no sense when it came to financial affairs. They hadn't been married long and Finlay wasn't entirely convinced that she wasn't only after the Rosebery fortune. She spent money as if it came from unlimited resources. So much so, that Finlay had had to put a limit to their monthly allowance. Something that his brother hated him for.

Their father be damned. He surely must have been daft when he came up with this hare-brained idea. That was the only conclusion Finlay could come to. Their father had to ken that turning the title and all of its holdings over to Fingal and Yvette would be the downfall of them all.

Nay. He would not allow it to happen. He refused to. If finding a wife was what Finlay needed to do to satisfy their father's last wishes, then find a wife he would. Doing so would also lessen Fingal's claim to the title. His brother thought that since he was married, he was better suited to be earl.

How hard could finding a wife be? Lasses had never been an issue for him. He'd lost himself in the warm body of many a lass over the years. This really shouldn't be any different.

He glanced over his shoulder at the pool of mothers and daughters in search of titled and fitting husbands and he shook his head.

It should be an easy endeavor—there were plenty of available lasses at this party alone—if he cared naught for the type of woman he would be bonded to. But he unfortunately, did. If he was going to be forced to marry, he wanted to have some interest in the lass. Turning the corner he sought the solace of the maze where he knew benches were set that he could sit upon and gather his head for a moment. Jumping into this pit of venomous snakes was going to take a lot of patience. A trait that Finlay was severely lacking these days, the looming deadline hanging over his head a large contributing factor to his disquietude.

He hurried his pace to ensure no one would see his retreat. It reminded him of dashing through enemy lines as he sought safety on the other side. If he recalled correctly, the maze was just on the other side of the brick wall. He rounded the corner and oomph.

A warm, soft body collided into his with a small cry.

Throwing out his arms to steady the lass, his breath caught in his throat as eyes the color of midnight locked with his.

*

Lady Willamina Watson had not heard the man approach on the other side of the wall and was only made aware of his presence when her face was pressed against a massive, hard chest, attached to strong arms that had reached out to steady her.

Ice-blue eyes clashed with hers, his blond brows furrowed with concern.

"Sir, my apologies." She stepped back, out of reach of the warm hands that had gripped her arms, causing a frisson of excitement to set her skin afire.

"Are ye hurt?" His deep voice sent shivers rippling up and down her spine.

"Nay. I fear my mind was preoccupied instead of paying attention to where I was walking."

A fierce look blanketed his handsome face as he tilted his head to look behind her. "Is something amiss?"

Shaking her head, she tried to maneuver around the man, but he stepped in her path, stopping her escape.

"Are ye alone?"

A simple question, but yet not really.

She was, in fact, alone. In more ways than one. Was he asking out of interest? Or did he have sinister thoughts in mind? She doubted the latter. Not with the reaction he had when he thought she might be in danger.

His actions were gallant. Especially since they were strangers.

She was a horrible liar. Every time she attempted a deception her cheeks would flush, giving her away, so she spoke the truth. Soon enough it would become obvious that no one accompanied her anyway.

Straightening her shoulders, she jutted her chin out, trying to show a strong countenance, like she always attended parties on her own. She supposed that was true now that she no longer had a husband, though her cousin did drag her to this particular event. "I am. I was just returning to the party."

He looked over his shoulder.

And she was aware that on this side of the wall, no one could see them.

When his gaze returned to her, she was once again taken aback at how handsome the man was. Blond hair, cut to the latest style, swept back off his forehead. A jawline so precise it looked as if it were cut from the strongest steel. But his eyes were what captured her attention. The palest of blue framed by long light brown lashes. Dare she say he was one of the most fetching men she had ever seen?

Aye, she dared.

"Ye shouldna be out here alone," he stated, his voice low.

Tilting her head to the side, she addressed him. "It doesna appear that I am alone any longer does it, Lord…" she let the sentence go unfinished. She had not the faintest idea of who this man was.

Awareness dawned on his face. "'Twould seem 'tis my turn to apologize as it appears I have forgotten my manners. Lord Primrose. Finlay Primrose." He bent at the waist and gave her a sweeping bow before straightening. "'Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance…"

As Willamina had done previously, Lord Primrose let the sentence hang in the air as he waited for an answer.

"Willamina Watson." She dipped into a curtsy.

"A lovely name for a lovely lass."

Her cheeks heated. Was he flirting with her? She did not ken. It was a practice completely foreign to her. "Thank ye, my lord."

His gaze remained transfixed on her, not in a leering way. She had had her fair share of those looks since the death of her husband and she found those most unwanted. Those stares made her very uncomfortable. Lord Primrose's stare was the opposite of leering. Was it curiosity? Interest?

Wanting, mayhap?

The longer Lord Primrose looked at her with heat in his gaze, the warmer her skin felt and the more active the flutter of butterflies in her stomach. Or was she imagining it because her body had never experienced such flights of fancy? A reaction she had never had for her late husband. Never once in three short months of a one-sided marriage to her husband had she felt such a strong stirring of excitement that the stranger standing before her had elicited.

An arranged marriage that at first she had wanted no part of. But she had tried her best to be a good and loyal wife. Even though it felt as if she were always fighting against the current of the vicious waves of the ocean. Like she would be swept out to sea if she stopped trying.

However, Gerard had no interest in their marriage or her in general, which he had made obvious by the constant string of women he had brazenly paraded through the halls of their home. 'Twas humiliating. And while her late husband had his many faults, he did not deserve to die at such a young age.

Even with his mistreatment of her and his lack of reciprocation of feelings of adoration, she did love him. And as she went through her time of mourning, her feelings didn't change. She missed him. It mattered naught that he would not react the same had the situation been reversed and it be she that had perished.

Lord Primrose cleared his throat, drawing her attention from the past and back to him. "Are ye certain ye are well, Miss Watson?" He asked, concern darkening his eyes ever so slightly. "Ye look a wee pale."

Willamina found herself taken aback by his intuitiveness, amazed that he could read her so well after just making her acquaintance. She nodded, unable to speak.

"I do no' believe anyone has seen us. I shall remain here for a time while ye rejoin the other guests so as no' to raise any suspicion. I dinna want to cause ye any scandal by being seen alone with me."

She bit back a chuckle at his insinuation.

He cocked his head to the side, a blond brow raised in question.

Where she was from, scandal was her middle name.