Prologue

Trent Rycroft carefully plucked a fresh, fragrant daisy, gazing at it fondly as he cradled the delicate stem in his fingers. It was a beautiful specimen, almost as beautiful as the woman who adored daisies, the woman to whom he intended to give it. He glanced up toward the front of the manor, despite having not yet heard an approaching coach, anxious for the arrival of a certain young woman. His heart thumped in his chest at the mere thought of her fiery hair, pale cheeks with a dusting of freckles and brilliant smile. Millicent, he thought, giddy with excitement.

Each moment until she arrived felt like its own eternity. But the instant he heard gravel crunching up the winding driveway to Rylingdale Manor, he rushed through the gardens toward the entrance, nearly making new path entrances through the bushes on his way.

As he burst through the gardens, Millicent Clapham rounded the corner to the back of the mansion. His breath caught and he stared, watching her glide toward him. She was a vision in a green silk gown trimmed and embroidered with gold thread, with her red hair piled high on her head and held in place by a gold and diamond tiara. She walked toward him with her gold-gloved hands clasped in front of her, and she offered him a small smile.

"Millie, darling," he said, running up to her and taking her into his arms. "How I have missed you."

He expected her to nestle into his arms as she always did, or giggle and push him playfully away and tease him about propriety. She did push him away. However, there was no jest in the strength of her shove, and there was a heavy sadness in her green eyes.

"Mille," he said, giving her a warm smile to try to ease whatever worried her. "My dearest, it brings me great joy to express that my affection for you surpasses all else in this world. I wish for you to understand that this sentiment shall remain steadfast, regardless of the circumstances we may face. In truth, I am compelled to inquire about a matter that has weighed upon my heart for some time." He understood he was rambling. But whatever had darkened his companion's face was worsening as he spoke, rather than lightening. It sent a terrible chill down Trent's spine, and he knew he would do anything to remedy the situation.

When her expression remained the same, he gently took her hand and gave her another loving smile. But she quickly retracted her hand as though his touch had burned her.

"Please, Trent," she said. "Do not finish what you were going to say. I simply cannot bear it."

Trent shook his head, his chest tightening as fright and bewilderment took the place of his previous delight and excitement at seeing the woman before him. Desperation eventually won out over the other emotions, and he dropped to one knee, trying again to take Millicent's delicate hands.

"My dearest," he declared. "I cherish you beyond the bounds of expression. If only I could rend open my breast and reveal to you the depths of my true affection. There exists no greater desire in all the world than to share the remainder of my days in your company."

But even before he had finished speaking, Millicent was shaking her head. There were no tears in her eyes, but her voice carried the same weight that the rest of her expression had since she had arrived.

"I cannot get into matrimony with you, Trent," she declared. "I cannot, for I do not harbour love for you."

Trent staggered backward, feeling as though an invisible hand had dropped down from the heavens and stricken him directly in the chest. He struggled to breathe, and his arms and legs felt suddenly weak and paralyzed. He tried to make sense of what Millicent had just said. But the only words that would come to his mind were those of petrified confusion and disbelief.

"No," h e declared, his voice trembling with emotion. "No, surely you love me, my dear. If I have inadvertently caused you distress, I assure you I shall endeavour with utmost diligence to make amends. But I am certain in my heart that you love me, just as I cherish you. We are destined to be united, as we have always envisioned."

Millicent shook her head again, sparing him a pained glance. He still saw no tears, but she drew a ragged breath as though she had been crying the entire time she stood before him when she looked away from him once more.

"I am truly sorry, Trent," she said with a heavy sigh. "I once believed that I held affection for you. Yet, alas, I find it is not the case. I cannot bestow upon you my heart, nor can I permit myself to enter into matrimony when my sentiments do not mirror your own."

Trent's world shattered around him, and he fell from his knees to his backside. All he could do was stare at the golden hem of the dress of the woman to whom he had, only moments prior, been prepared to propose. Though his chest heaved with short, panting breaths, he felt as though no air could reach his lungs. His chest ached, and he scrambled back to his knees, determined to plead his case with Millicent and resolve whatever was making her say such terrible things.

But as he looked up into her eyes, he could see that further efforts would be useless. She stared at him with lips that spoke of sadness, but eyes that seemed distant, almost as if thinking of something else entirely.

"Please," he whispered, despite the futility of the attempt.

Millicent shook her head one last time, turning her body to leave.

"I am sorry, Trent," she said with a surprisingly strong voice. "This is my decision. Goodbye."

With that, Millicent walked away from him, leaving him crumpled on the ground, still desperately trying to breathe. He sat on his hands and knees until both went numb. He did not know how long he had remained outside, but his body felt chilled, and every step made his legs ache. Yet none of the discomfort compared to the bleeding pieces of his broken heart.

He did not realize that he had missed dinner until his father, the duke of Rylingdale, had him summoned to his study. Bradley, the family's butler since before Trent's teenage years, found him in his chambers with the door wide open, staring out the window at the gardens where hours before, his entire life had changed. He barely acknowledged the butler's summons, using all his remaining strength to drag himself down the stairs and to his father's study. By the time he had reached the door, he had a shred of hope. His father surely loved him, and he would have words of comfort to aid his broken son.

When he entered the room, the duke was scowling.

"You missed dinner," he said gruffly. "Where were you?"

Trent sighed, shaking his head.

"Millicent ended our courtship," he said.

There was a long silence. When it ended, however, Trent wished it had not. In fact, he wished he had remained in his chambers.

"What of it?" the duke asked, looking at Trent as though he were mad. "She was a horrid match for you. Now, you will be free to find a more suitable bride."

It was Trent's turn to stare at his father. He had always known his father to be a tough man, especially after Trent's mother died. But how could he compare Millicent, the woman whom Trent had loved for more than six months, to a mere match?

"Father, I loved her," he said, hoping to soften the glare in his father's eyes. "I had planned to propose to her when she arrived today. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and I am certain that you knew this."

The duke snarled, his eyes narrowing to slits.

"You are naught but a fool," he said with a disdainful curl of his lip. "I forewarned you of the ruin love inflicts upon men. It renders them feeble and ineffectual. You entrusted your heart to a woman, and she shattered it. Just as I predicted she would. Let this serve as the lesson you disregarded from your own father, and carry on with your life."

Trent shook his head. His eyes were red and burning, and he knew his father should be able to see his agony. And yet all he could offer was cold mocking and indifference.

"Please, Father," he said. "I cannot bear the ache of losing her. I seek only understanding and kindness. I was sure that she loved me as I loved her, and to learn otherwise is stripping the very air from my lungs."

Trent did not think that his father could get crueler to him than he already had been. However, he was wrong.

"You are a disgrace to the Rycroft name, Trent," his father said. His face contorted into a mask of disgust, and he spat the words as though he could not wound his own son with them quickly enough for his liking.

Trent felt like collapsing, the pain of his father's words adding fresh injuries to the wounds left by Millicent's declarations of rejection and her loveless heart. He managed to hold himself on his feet, but only just. Fresh tears stung his eyes and, in another desperate attempt to garner some fashion of warmth from the man who had sired him, he allowed them to begin to fall.

"Do you have nothing kind to say to me?" he asked. He understood that he was a grown gentleman, pleading to his aging father. But he would have done anything for a moment of relief from the suffocating heartache he felt.

The tears only served to anger his father further. The duke slammed his fist on his desk and scowled more fiercely than ever before.

"You are a disgrace," he said again, his voice rising with every word. "You have shown ultimate weakness with these useless, despicable emotions, rendering you unfit to be the heir to the Rylingdale dukedom."

Trent's mind reeled as he processed his father's words. He had worked hard to learn everything his father had to teach him about becoming duke when the reigning Duke of Rylingdale passed. It was something to which he looked forward, not for the prestige or wealth that came with the title, but because it was his birthright, and he was proud. Now, his father was threatening to take it from him, after the only woman he could ever love had broken his heart so completely. The words hit Trent as if they were a physical strike, and the precious little that remained of his heart shattered.

There is no solace to be found with Father, he thought, dejection coursing through him and leaving him unable to speak. He prayed for a quick end to his father's cruel abrasiveness so that he could crawl back to his chambers and stay.

"Even now, you can say nothing in your defense," the duke said, his upper lip trembling as the snarl curled into a full baring of his teeth. "I shall never tolerate such behaviour from my son. You will learn strength and ruthlessness, or you will be nothing. To both society and to me. I will tell you one final time, Trent. Love is a weakness, and I will not have the heir to my fine legacy falling victim to such foolish childishness. Now, get out of my sight."

Trent forced himself to turn away from his father, but not before catching sight of the duke's last disgusted stare. As he left the study that night, he swore that he would never again allow anyone to hurt him as Millicent had. As his own father had. His father wanted him to become a ruthless beast, like he himself was. Now, he would show the callused duke precisely what that meant. No mercy for anyone…