Prologue

L ieutenant Lord Alec Quinton stared at the carved wood device that had been delivered earlier that morning. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and tamped down on the overwhelming urge to toss the prosthetic leg into the fireplace and be done with it. But could not do so now that he had inherited the earldom and the responsibilities attached to it.

"The knee and the foot are articulated," his valet and former midshipman remarked. "Impressive workmanship."

While Reeves studied the device with one eye, Quinton marveled at the man's readiness to embrace change and willingness to accept his own limitations. Reeves had lost his hearing in his left ear, along with the sight in his left eye, during the battle that had cost Quinton half a leg and his career in the Royal Navy.

Quinton had been on the middle gun deck, about to give the order to fire, when a direct hit from the French had blown their thirty-two-pounder guns free from their lashings, pinning him beneath one. Reeves's quick action directing two seamen to use a broken spar to lift the gun off Quinton, while he fastened a tourniquet around his leg, had saved Quinton from bleeding to death. The memory of the fractured bone jutting through his skin haunted him still, as did the ship's surgeon's words: "There's no saving his leg."

Since Trafalgar, his heart and his mind had been in constant battle over the loss of his limb and his naval career. He had yet to fully accept either. Somehow, Reeves, who had been gravely injured by flying projectiles and debris, had been able to, while putting the past behind him.

His valet lifted the new wooden limb to study it more closely. "I think the shape and the extra padding added to the socket will be a better fit."

"At the first sign that it is abrading my stump, I am setting fire to it. I do not have the luxury of the time it takes to heal from another infection caused by an ill-fitting device. It takes far too long to heal ever since Trafalgar."

"We both know the ravages an infection can wreak on a body," Reeves said.

The valet's words reminded Quinton of the battles they had faced at sea, fighting in the king's name…and the final one on land to regain their health. He met his valet's steady gaze. "I should have embraced the idea of the wooden limb as soon as it was suggested. Instead I balked and refused to listen."

"But you have made great strides in your recovery, sir, and have healed to the point where you are ready to meet with Lieutenant Sampson…again."

Quinton frowned. "I should have listened to my physician's cautionary advice. Instead, I ignored the signs Sampson warned me about, and let my stubborn pride get in the way of common sense. Why in the bloody hell did I assume my stump would be accustomed to bearing my full weight for hours at a time when it hadn't done so before? I alone am responsible for causing the injury and resulting infection."

"It took me a very long time to regain my equilibrium," Reeves reminded him. "I had to adjust to not only losing the sight in my left eye, but the hearing in my left ear as well. I understand being eager to regain something you never thought to lose, lieutenant."

"You have adjusted far better than I, Reeves, and have been the soul of discretion while I have dealt with the blow of my brother's death. Upon my inheriting the title I never wanted, you have been instrumental in helping me deflect the ridiculous hue and cry from matchmaking mamas of the ton seeing me as their daughters' salvation." Quinton raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "The only way I will be able to avoid Almack's, the continued onslaught of invitations, unwanted flirtations, and—God help me—another attempt to manipulate me into a compromising position not of my own making…is to enter the Lyon's Den."

When Reeves remained silent, Quinton added, "But I shall enter on two feet… Albeit, one will be a wooden articulated foot. I intend to escape the prospect of marrying a debutante whose greatest aspiration in life is to marry a title without knowing, or understanding, the man attached to it."

"Do you still hold with your plan to refuse all invitations until you have mastered using the new prosthesis?"

"Aye, while I prepare to try my luck in the establishment that caters to hellions and hoydens with enough coin to engage the Black Widow of Whitehall's matchmaking services."

"Best try on the wooden leg, then, sir. Lieutenant Sampson guaranteed this one is far superior to the previous two."

"Should be—it cost a bloody fortune." Quinton let his valet help him put on the blasted wooden leg and adjust the fit.

When it was fastened in place, Reeves asked, "Ready to put some weight on it?"

Sweat beaded on Quinton's brow and temples, but he ignored it, refusing to let fear send him into a downward spiral of self-pity.

"Lieutenant?" Reeves asked, calling him back to the present.

Setting aside matters weighing heavy on his mind and heart, Quinton braced a hand to the side of the wardrobe and slowly put his weight on the false leg.

His valet waited a few moments before saying, "That's the way, sir. Steady now."

Needing to test the device, Quinton dropped his hand and slowly distributed the rest of his weight. "It feels…"

"Uncomfortable?"

"Nay."

"Painful?"

"Nay. To be honest, it feels like slipping into a pair of my favorite Hessians. The fit is exquisite."

Reeves grinned. "Never thought I'd hear you describe it as such. Care to try a few laps in the upper hallway before attempting the stairs?"

Determination surged through Quinton. "I'm ready."

A short while later, more than pleased with the results, and lack of chafing on his thigh where it sat in the socket, Quinton squared his shoulders. "I believe I shall try the servants' staircase first. It is narrow enough that I can brace a hand to either wall if necessary."

Reeves shook his head.

"You don't agree?"

"The risers are quite steep," Reeves said. "Although the main staircase is too wide to hold both handrails while descending, I can walk beside you and be there to lend a hand in case your balance feels off."

Quinton did not want to admit that he was leery of only having one handhold to grab, but finally agreed. When they reached the bottom without issue, he praised his valet, "Excellent suggestion, Reeves." He turned and glanced at the top of the staircase and then his valet again. "You have been the one constant in my life, after saving it, subtly reminding me that my life is far from over. I could not have accomplished this last step without you."

"We have had one another's backs since before Trafalgar. You more than returned the favor taking me on as your valet. Fat lot I knew about dressing a gentleman, but you insisted," Reeves said. "The heat of battle at sea is more familiar to us than the one we faced on shore."

"You have the right of it, Reeves. Those who never served in His Majesty's forces forget our sacrifices as soon as they are faced with those of us who are scarred or missing a limb. Mayhap it's the stark reminder of the ravages of war, or simply being unable to stomach the sight of us."

"Either way, lieutenant, with half my hearing and the loss of sight in one eye, I would have been reduced to begging in the streets."

"And yet here we are," Quinton reminded him.

"Aye, sir."

"Now that the title is mine, I will continue what my brother fought for—better treatment for those returning from battle, and for the widows and families of those who did not return at all. Nathaniel did not have the actual experience to describe the heat of battle to his contemporaries in the House of Lords, but I do.

"These brave and battle weary souls will not be swept aside as inconsequential because they left a part of themselves behind…or, like myself, after spending so much of their lives in the navy, feel as if they will never acclimate to life on land."

"I have always had the utmost faith that you, lieutenant, will become the voice of reason among your peers, raising compassion and awareness for the plight of England's forgotten."

"There are some who sit in the House of Lords who have younger brothers that have been left scarred by their time serving the king, or served themselves. If they have forgotten, I will be their reminder."

"It is a noble cause, sir. Whatever you need me to do, just ask."

Quinton nodded. "Those of us who served in His Majesty's forces must band together in support of one another."

His valet saluted him. "Aye, lieutenant."

"I believe I shall retire to the library. Thank you, Reeves."

"My pleasure, sir."