Prologue

PROLOGUE

Stratton Street, London

May 1818

T he London streets, though far from busy, were nevertheless not quiet. It was the hour when the ton began to return home, most of them longing for their beds after an evening of revelry.

Not so for James Richmond, Viscount Oakley, and his friend the Earl of Worthe. On Worthe’s part, there was important business at hand, most notably delivering a short missive to his beloved Scarlett; on Oakley’s part, there was the wish to see a different lady, Scarlett’s dearest friend, Miss Bess Leighton.

It had been Bess—and her mother, Lady Leighton—who had aided in the discovery of Oakley’s sister Scarlett. They had brought her to town and to Lord and Lady Tipton’s home where the association was immediately recognised, on account of Scarlett being the identical twin to Adelaide, Oakley’s second sister. Oakley was mightily grateful to them for it but had also found another source of pleasure in the association, that being Bess herself.

Within all the tumult of the family reuniting, he had hardly been able to court Bess properly, but the small snatches of conversation, the private smiles, and the flirty glances they had shared were enough for him to fall in love with her. She was everything good and sweet and charming, and she fit him like his glove fit his hand. He had been teased, often, for his tendency to be in and out of love, beginning at approximately age nine, but this was very different. His feelings for Bess made him understand that the attachments he had felt before were mere schoolboy infatuations.

The night had not been a good one. Lady Leighton had given a small dinner party, and into that happy occasion, Scarlett’s adoptive father had intruded. Reverend Margrave was clearly not pleased by the Richmond family, did not like Worthe—who was quite in love with Scarlett—and by way of threats and lies would remove Scarlett from town and take her back to his home in Stanbridge early the next morning. Or, Oakley supposed, given the hour, this day.

Thus was Worthe returning to Stratton Street to give a footman a note to slip to Scarlett, a note meant to assure her of his devotion and promise her that they would see her freed from her present difficulties.

And Oakley was merely hoping for a glimpse of his own beloved. He peered out of the window as the carriage arrived. Number seven appeared dark; presumably everyone within had gone to their beds. “Looks pretty quiet, Worthe.”

“I just need an agreeable footman. I did not expect to see Scarlett herself, although I would not object if I did.” He offered Oakley a grin, then moved towards the carriage door. “I shall only be a moment.”

“I am getting out as well; I must stretch my legs.” Oakley followed him out of the carriage and watched as Worthe disappeared around the building to the servants’ entrance. He stood by the carriage, peering up at the windows and wondering which one belonged to Bess. Should he toss a pebble and see whether anyone awoke? What if he woke Bess’s father instead? Or her brother? Leighton seemed to be an easy-natured fellow, but not if pulled from his bed at such an hour, surely!

Moments later, Oakley heard the front door open. He looked up to see Bess, peering outside with a lamp in hand. His heart leapt and he stared, scarcely able to believe his good fortune.

As soon as she saw him, she hastened towards the carriage, pausing only to carefully set her lamp down by the door. “What are you doing here?” she asked with a whispery giggle once she had reached him. “It must be one in the morning!”

“At some point, one stops checking the time because ’tis too painful to know,” he said with a little laugh. “Why are you awake?”

“Oh, I am just so worried for dear Scarlett.” She shook her head, frowning prettily in the moonlight. “I could not have imagined the reverend would behave as he did tonight!”

“I do not know the man, but he seemed rather…well, mad.”

“Stark, raving mad. But does your family believe him?” Bess enquired anxiously.

Oakley was shaking his head firmly even before the words were out. “No. Pray do not be afraid on Scarlett’s behalf. We will find a way to discredit his lies, depend upon it.”

Unthinkingly—because imagining she did it on purpose was too good to be hoped for—Bess grabbed his gloved hands, bringing them to her lips and pressing a kiss on them. “Thank heavens!” she exclaimed as she dropped them. “Scarlett deserves all that is best and brightest in this world.”

A little dazed by her actions, Oakley did not immediately respond.

“Forgive me,” she said, dropping her eyes. “It has been an emotional evening.”

“There is nothing to forgive, I promise you,” he said warmly.

“No, I was too bold. Too brazen… It is not my custom to behave so.”

“Do not trouble yourself.”

“Truly, I am sorry.” Her gaze, warm and sincere, met his.

She looked so apologetic; he could not help himself. He grabbed her hands and brought them to his lips. Unlike him, she was not wearing gloves, and the delicate scent of her rosewater soap tickled his nose as he pressed a kiss to her hands, as she had done to his. He lowered their clasped hands but did not release them.

“There,” he said, his voice husky. “Now we are even.”

“We are,” she said, and though it was hard to discern in the moonlight, he thought he detected a blush.

They stood, doing nothing more than gazing into one another’s eyes for moments that stretched out, too short and yet too long. It was the shifting of the horses near them that brought him back to reality and reminded him they were not alone; Worthe’s coachman was also present, albeit blessedly silent.

“Come inside for a bit,” Bess urged him.

“Inside the house?”

She nodded. “We could sit somewhere and…and talk. Perhaps I could tell you more about Scarlett, things that might help you?”

It was a very thin excuse, wholly improper, and he accepted with alacrity. “Give me a moment to get rid of Worthe.”

“I shall await you in the drawing room.” With another little giggle, she nearly skipped inside.

He was explaining his plans to the coachman when Worthe reappeared, smiling broadly. “Success! I had to pull poor John, or James, or whatever the lad’s name was from his bed, but the coins I gave him made up for that I hope!”

“I am sure they did,” Oakley said with a smile. “I shall bid you goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight? What do you mean?”

“You may go on without me. I intend to remain here awhile.”

Peering at him suspiciously, Worthe enquired, “What do you mean, you will remain here? On the street?”

Oakley gave him a look. “No, not on the street. Do not concern yourself with it, just be on your way.”

“We have come in mine.” Worthe pointed towards his carriage. “How will you get back?”

Oakley shrugged and grinned. “I shall think of something.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Worthe stared at him disbelievingly.

“I shall conduct myself as a gentleman,” Oakley promised him.

“I really do not think I ought to?—”

Oakley stepped towards the carriage, opened the door, and pulled out the step. “Fare thee well, Worthe. Would you like me to hand you in?”

“I can manage, thank you.” Worthe took a step towards his carriage but paused to give Oakley a stern look. “Pray do nothing to make any of this more difficult than it already is.”

“Of course not.” With a little salute, Oakley turned and went to the front door, opening it quietly and slipping inside. He heard the horses begin to move as he quietly closed it behind him.

He found Bess seated in the drawing room on a couch by the window. Her lamp had been placed on the table beside her and burned low. That door, too, was closed very quietly, and he went to her on silent feet, taking great care to step lightly. “I had trouble getting rid of Worthe.”

“But at last you prevailed,” she said in a low voice as he took a seat beside her. Her smile faded and a worried look creased her forehead. “Have I scandalised you?”

“Dreadfully,” he said agreeably.

“What must you think of me?”

He reached over and brushed away a curl that dared caress her cheek. “I think you are perfect in every way.”

“ Far from perfect,” she said with a shy smile. “Reverend Margrave calls me ‘that flibbertigibbet’ and says I talk too much, think too little, and spend too many hours devoted to my own enjoyments.”

“I would consider any censure from that man the highest commendation,” Oakley replied warmly. “I cannot think of any person whose ideas are more opposite from my own. And in any case why should a young lady free of the responsibilities of family and home be serious? I want to enjoy my youth as much as I can.”

“I could not agree more.”

There was a very short silence between them—and then they talked…and talked and talked. They spoke on anything and everything, the serious and laughable alongside the mundane nothings of upper-class life. He had never before known a lady so easy to speak to. There was always another subject to be canvassed, always more to say or consider or laugh over.

Oakley could not believe it when dawn’s pearly light began to seep into the room. “I must go,” he said regretfully. “If I were caught here?—”

“You would be stuck with me,” she said lightly. “My father is liberal in many ways but not this one.”

“That would hardly be a punishment.”

His pulse roaring, he dared to lean over, slowly, giving her every chance to stop him. He kissed her thrice— one on her smooth cheek, one near her mouth, and finally one on the soft, silken petals of her lips. “Bess…you must know how I feel.”

“No,” she said in a voice barely audible. “But I know my own heart.”

“I love you,” he said, the utterance sending a jolt of fear and delight through him.

“I love you too,” she said, her eyes shining in the brief moment before he leant in to kiss her again. “I wish you did not have to go,” she said when he pulled away.

“It is killing me that I must,” he murmured, still savouring the sweet taste of her on his lips. “Particularly as we will likely be away from town for a week or more, dealing with this matter for Scarlett.”

“Scarlett! Oh, but I must go to her and explain how you have it all in hand.”

“Most of it thus far is Worthe’s doing. He will not hear of anyone doing anything that he is not included in. ’Tis for the best—a man likes to be a hero to the woman he loves.” Heart still pounding, he added, “Just as I should like to be your hero.”

“My hero?” Bess smiled, colour rising in her cheeks. “Shall I thrust myself into a crisis that you may rescue me from?”

He chuckled.

“It will be an excessively long week,” she added softly. “I am impatient with it already.”

“When I get back, I mean to propose to you.” He grinned and stole just one more kiss. “So if you intend to refuse me, you have a week or so to conjure up a reasonable explanation for it.”

She laughed, and his heart soared. “I can see no other future than life with you,” he added.

“Nor I, you,” she promised.

There was, suddenly, the sound of a door closing on the floor above them. Bess and Oakley both jumped as the sound of footsteps above their heads indicated that someone was walking about up there. “The servants?”

“Worse.” Bess’s eyes were wide. “The reverend is awake. His room is just above us.”

Oakley glanced at the nearest mantel clock. “He does mean to be off early.”

“You ought to go,” Bess murmured. “It could make things worse for Scarlett if we were caught here together. Come, I shall show you the back way so that we can avoid meeting him.”

On tiptoes they fled the drawing room, moving slowly down the hall. At one heart-stopping moment, it sounded as if the reverend meant to descend the stairs but then turned away and went back into his guest apartment. At last they managed to get to the back stair, from which Oakley could get outdoors unseen and Bess could, with good fortune, return to her bedchamber.

“May I kiss you just once more?” he asked before he went.

With a little smile, she nodded. He gave one lingering kiss to her lips and departed, thinking that nothing he had ever done before felt as wrong as leaving her.