Prologue

London, England, 1810

Flanner Auction House

"Do not go to the dock alone. It's dangerous."

Olivia's father's warning rang in her mind. He was right, of course. Violence ran rampant along this bustling stretch of the

Thames River. More than one tale circulated of an unsuspecting soul disappearing from this dock, never to be heard from again.

But the sun had not yet set.

Surely a closer look wouldn't hurt.

Fourteen-year-old Olivia Brannon exited the rear entrance of the Flanner Auction House onto the hectic landing and into a

vibrant world that she knew all too well. Sailors and merchants milled about, no doubt eager to make use of the day's fading

light, and the noisy white seabirds dipped low and wove among the masts of the tall ships. Curious scents of fish and cumin,

of wood and tobacco, perfumed the dank, hazy air, and the revived excitement of things new and unexplored enveloped her.

She wanted to see everything. Know everything. And not just about the treasures brought in on the East Indiaman ships. She wanted to know the stories about the exotic lands from which they came and the people who made them.

She lifted to the tips of her toes and pressed her hand against her forehead to shade her eyes against the golden setting

sun as it reflected off the choppy water. Through the throng of sailors, discarded nets, and coiled ropes, she spotted it.

A large wooden crate stamped with the words Live Animal .

"Olivia."

The tenor of the familiar masculine voice squelched her anticipation, and annoyance crept in. She glanced over her shoulder.

Lucas Avery, tall, gangly, and three years her senior, stood just behind her with a bulky leather satchel slung over his wiry

shoulder. The riverside wind tousled his tawny hair, which appeared to have lightened by time spent in the sun, and his usually

ruddy complexion was far tanner than she recalled.

"It'll be dark soon." He nodded toward the Thames. "It's not safe here after the sun sets."

His warning was valid, but she'd not give him the satisfaction of thinking he'd told her something she wasn't already aware

of. "I know."

"What are you doing out here anyway?" He fell into step with her as she walked along the wooden planks.

"If you must know, a tiger came in on the Belletrue yesterday. It's bound for the Royal Menagerie at the Tower of London. I was hoping to see it," she stated, proud to share new information and determined to gain control of the conversation. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in the Orient."

"I was." He paused to allow two men carrying a large trunk to pass between them. "We returned only yesterday."

She bit her lower lip and looked out at the masts and rigging.

Oh, how she envied him.

Timothy Avery, Lucas's father, was a purveyor of antiquities, just like her father. Lucas traveled extensively with him in

pursuit of rarities—to India, Egypt, Italy. Her father traveled as well, but she was never permitted to join him. Ever since

her mother had contracted diphtheria and died on a sea voyage to Italy, her father deemed both his daughters too delicate

to travel—a sentiment Olivia ardently challenged, but to no avail.

An arresting roar, unlike anything she'd ever heard before, reverberated near the bolts of stored sailcloth and brick buildings

lining the docks. Shouts and shuffling erupted. She whirled to see two sailors securing a gray canvas tarp over the crate.

Other sailors joined them to push the crate away from the landing's edge and toward the buildings.

Crestfallen, she felt her shoulders droop. "I'm too late."

"Perhaps the tiger will still be here tomorrow," Lucas offered.

He was trying to be kind, she knew. Still, his conciliatory comment irritated her. Lucas Avery had always been kind—it had

been his most admirable trait when they were playmates as children. But now it hardly seemed warranted—or even appropriate.

How could he talk to her so casually as if their fathers were not enemies? As if his father had not betrayed hers?

"Maybe." She turned back toward the auction house's dock entrance.

"I'll escort you back inside."

"That's not necessary." Her words were sharper than she intended.

"I know. I'll join you just the same."

When they reached the entrance to the auction hall, Lucas opened the door for her. Oppressive heat pressed against her as

she entered the hall, and the overwhelming odor of too many bodies in a stuffy space burned her nose. She slowed her steps

just long enough for her eyes to adjust to the dim light before she turned back to Lucas. "As you can see, I'm inside now

and quite safe, so I'll bid you good day."

But he ignored her dismissal and leaned closer to be heard over the chatter. "Is that the Cavesee Vase?"

Olivia followed his gaze to where she'd left her father earlier. Edward Brannon and his brother, Thomas, were unpacking the

imposing blue-and-white porcelain Chinese vase—a celebrated relic from the Ming dynasty—from the straw of its shipping crate.

Relief rushed her. It had arrived. Her father had endeavored for years to secure its purchase, and they'd waited more than

fifteen long months for the piece to arrive on England's shore. As with any such critical transaction, fear that it would

be damaged or lost at sea in transit had hovered.

But here it was: large, intact, and stunning.

She lifted her chin and seized the opportunity to gain an upper hand over the Averys. "Yes, my father acquired it on behalf

of Mr.Francis Milton's chinoiserie collection at Cloverton Hall."

She knew the effect that name would have on Lucas, and she paused dramatically to let it penetrate and have its full effect. "I must be going. My father will require my assistance."

Not waiting for a response, she curtsied and wound her way through the onlookers to where her father and uncle were uncrating

the massive tianqiuping vase, which was nearly two feet in height and required both men to safely lift it.

Perhaps it had been an exaggeration. Her father did not need her help. But how else was she to learn everything there was to know about evaluating antiquities if she did not participate

as much as possible?

As she drew closer, the details became more obvious: the unmistakable cobalt-blue hue on the bright white background. The

fierce, five-toed dragon circling the globular base—a symbol of the emperor. Lotus flowers embellished the columnar neck,

and lishui waves circled the base and upper rim.

Overwhelming pride engulfed her, and a grin quirked her lips. Brannon Antiquities had done something Avery & Sons would never

be able to do: supply priceless pieces to the famed Milton chinoiserie collection. The Averys might have bested them on other

fronts, but renewed determination fired through her. This would be the first of many instances in which the Brannons would

prevail. It might be wicked to hold bitterness toward the other family, but surely there was nothing wrong in celebrating

this hard-won victory.