Prologue

PROLOGUE

June 1815

Almack’s London

L ucius, Viscount Page raked his gaze across the ballroom filled with the Season’s latest hopefuls. His sister, Annette, was busy with a group of attendees, so he took the opportunity to move toward the exit. Just as he reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Nettie waving at him furiously, pushing through the crowd to reach him.

Blast! He tossed her a wicked smile and slid from the room, pulling out his flask at the same time the oak door slammed shut behind him. Taking the stairs to the next level below, he found a dark dusty alcove and settled in for a strong drink. But the whisky did nothing to banish the memories assailing him this evening. Lucius had managed not to think of her for an entire week and then… Smack! Her smiling face had returned, taunting, laughing, alluring.

It had been the chit in the pale-rose silk with the honey-blonde hair. The tiny glass birds dangling from her ears as if trying to take flight, the wings glittering with the woman’s every step. She’d looked like Christiana’s twin from the back. Nodcock! Was that all it took for her to saturate his thoughts again? He tipped the flask and took a long draw, then smacked his lips and let out a defeated sigh.

“Lucius, you shouldn’t have,” Christiana exclaimed, her light-blue eyes sparkling as she removed the delicate crystal figurine from the velvet. She held it up, watching the hand-painted swan shimmer beneath the candlelight.

“You told me they represent grace. Something you have in spades.” Lucius smiled, feeling ridiculously pleased with himself. The gift had set him back a bit, eating up half his allowance for the month. The delight in Tia’s eyes was worth it.

“And fidelity,” she added, casting him a sly look from beneath dark-blonde lashes. “When do you leave for university? I shall miss you, Lord Page.”

“Not until after Epiphany. You won’t get rid of me so quickly.”

“You will leave, make new friends, and forget about me.”

She was such a beauty, even when she pouted. “Never,” he said and meant it.

Lucius took another pull from his flask. He shouldn’t have left Nettie alone, but he planned on returning before the doors were locked at eleven. After which, not even a duke could cross the threshold. No one would bother his sister, he thought with confidence, not with four protective brothers watching over her.

Footsteps echoed in the stairwell, growing louder. Lucius leaned farther into the alcove, his dark coat blending into the shadows. When the figure emerged onto the landing, he smiled to himself. Nettie always had been like a bloodhound when it came to her siblings. She could sniff them out from any hiding place.

Silent, he watched as Nettie poked her head around the corner, looking up the next flight. With a sigh, she turned on her heel. Lucius smiled.

“You smell of whisky.”

Devil it! His smile faded. “Good whisky. Expensive whisky,” answered Lucius. “Less of a headache tomorrow.”

“Brother, why do you torture yourself so?” Lady Annette Page, standing with her hands on her slender hips, the paste emeralds in her dark hair catching the weak light from the wall sconce, was a force to be reckoned with. Irritation flashed in her green eyes, so like his own, almost matching the Pomona silk of her dress. Annette knew of the Christiana tragedy, but Lucius would never admit to being lovesick.

She sighed. “I miss her too. She taught me all the ridiculous, intricate rules I needed for my first Season. Not that I remember them all. I so wish she was here to help me through it.”

A low growl started in Lucius’s throat. He’d met the honied-hair beauty at a Christmas ball, where she’d stolen his heart. They had written while he was at university, and he had plans to marry her when he finished. But when he came home with best friend and ever-charming rogue, the Earl of Winfield in tow, the scoundrel had wooed her himself.

Proposed.

Married her.

Christiana had stolen Lucius’s heart. They had both shattered it.

A few months ago, the noxious rake had died in a scandalous accident, leaving Lady Winfield childless and alone. After the funeral, Lucius’s flask had come out.

“Have you tried talking to her again?” Nettie asked, placing a hand on his arm as he tried to take another drink.

“She won’t see me when I call or answer my letters. At the cemetery, she told me that men had been the cause of all her sorrows. She would never allow another into her heart.” He put the flask away. “Got herself locked away on her mother’s country estate.”

His sister shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m sure she just needs time. Winfield was a terrible husband?—”

“I tried to warn her. Of course, it only made me appear jealous of the knave.” Lucius snorted, then handed Nettie the flask. “Take a nip. It will make the night pass faster.”

She took a swallow and gasped, choking a bit. “Heavens, how can you drink this rot?”

“It’s an acquired taste. It gets better with each swallow. Try again,” he teased with a grin.

She shook her head and handed it back with a shiver. “I don’t care for spirits. You know that.”

“The more for me, then,” he mumbled.

“Don’t get foxed.”

“Only mellow,” he promised.

“Papa says it’s time you start looking for your own wife. She may never come around, Lucius.” Annette reached up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Lady Jersey is introducing me to… someone, and I must dance the next quadrille with him. Please make sure you’re back before eleven. Please, Lucius. Don’t embarrass me by leaving me unchaperoned.”

He sighed like a true martyr. “Of course. I’m your oldest brother. I will always protect you. Now go,” he said, pushing her toward the stairs. “I’m crossing my fingers for you that he’s handsome, plump in the pocket, and brave enough to face all your brothers.”

This produced a snort from his sister, who promptly returned to the ballroom.

Lucius wasn’t sure how long he sat there, drowning in his self-pity. But his flask was empty. Reason enough to return to the dance. It was a quarter of an hour before eleven. He poked his head inside, searching the room for Nettie. He saw her near the refreshments, her gaze scanning the occupants. She’s worried I won’t make it.

He cursed himself as he moved through the crowd, holding up a hand so Nettie would know he was there. Behind her, Lord Frederick—a well-known rapscallion in the clubs—approached his sister from behind. Another growl scraped his throat. The man better not touch her.

A knot formed in his stomach when Lord Frederick smiled. No, leered . Nettie’s eyes went wide. The bloody nodcock had done something. Lucius saw him wink at a friend and extend his hand out again. Rage seared his chest as he yelled for his sister.

It happened so quickly. Nettie turned with a clenched fist and punched the cretin in the nose. Planted a perfect facer. His pride at her skill was cut short as chaos ensued. A deafening silence followed by a roar of gasps and murmurs. They gathered around her like vultures, the women whispering and pointing, the men smirking and nodding. Lord Frederick whined like the coward he was as red spurted from his nose, his finger wagging at Nettie as if she were the devil incarnate. Someone shouted for help.

Lucius couldn’t help the slight smile. Justice, to be sure. But the consequences would be ruinous. He watched helplessly as Nettie offered Lord Frederick a handkerchief and was rebuffed like a leper. As Lucius pushed through the crowd, the remarks echoing throughout the room would soon be all over Town.

“Lord Frederick has been attacked!”

“Did Lady Annette plant him a facer?”

“Lecherous lickpenny? Such language!”

“She never did act a proper lady.”

“Between her brothers and that right hook...”

“She’s this Season’s social pariah now.”

Lucius reached his sister just as her courage faded. He gripped her elbow, silently cursing the panic in her eyes. “I-I…” The tears fell, and she hid her face in his coat.

Anger bubbled in his belly, sending heat to his face as he held Nettie close. “I saw what happened, you disgusting cur. To think a lady could take you out, you deuced molly,” he yelled over her head.

“She’s no lady,” came the muffled response from behind a second bloody handkerchief. His blond hair was splattered with tiny droplets of cherry red, his weak chin thrust out indignantly.

“I will find you later and finish the job. Count on that.” Lucius smiled thinly when Lord Frederick went even paler. Yes, he would find the rat and beat him soundly.

The crowd parted as they made their way to the door, indicating the need to distance themselves from the ruined lady and her brother. Lucius noticed her hands trembling, one tugging on his coat.

“I think I may?—”

Lucius swept his sister into his arms as she fainted. His heart twisted again. This was his fault. If he’d been in the ballroom instead of drowning his sorrows, he would have stopped the duke’s son. Nettie wouldn’t be ruined.

***

One week later

White’s Gentlemen’s Club

“She’s a hoyden.” A nasal voice coming from the library. “If she were my daughter, I’d beat her soundly.”

“Because you couldn’t, eh?” asked another deeper voice. “She has a deuced good right punch, though I’d be more worried about her brothers.”

“They’re all bags of wind.” Nasal man again. “I could take any of them in an honest fight. If they even knew how to play fair.”

Lucius grinned. His friend, Mr. Hawkesbury, had done well. Pushing the library door open with a bang, he confronted Lord Frederick. It was difficult not to laugh at the man, his eyes still discolored and puffy from the facer Nettie had planted on him.

“Seems you’ve got a crook in your nose.” Lucius strode toward the table by the window. “I’d be happy to straighten it out for you. Say, Jackson’s tomorrow?”

“Wh-what are you babbling about?” Lord Frederick’s tone was nonchalant, but his eyes held fear. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to interrupt one’s betters?”

Lucius snorted. “She did, along with the advice never to give in to a bully. Since my sister’s lesson didn’t seem to penetrate that thick skull, I shall have to reteach it.”

“I would never lower myself?—”

“To pinch a noble woman’s arse? Your ship has sailed.” Lucius turned to the others in the room. “Get The Book. First bet: Will Lord Frederick accept an invitation to a boxing match after saying publicly that I am merely a bag of wind? Or will the coward try to slink out with his tail between his legs, like the dog he is? Hurry, gentlemen, place those wagers while we wait with bated breath.”

A blustering Lord Frederick rose, face and neck purple with rage, addressing his cohorts. The same men he’d agitated into arguments dozens of times, only to sit back and take the wagers himself. But today wouldn’t end with a plump pocket and a smirk on the miserable lord’s face. Lucius wanted justice, and by the devil, he’d have it.

“Does everyone hear this reprobate antagonizing me, goading me into a contest of fists? I’m not even healed yet, and he wants to take advantage?—”

“Of a man who let a lady bust his nose,” called out a patron from the back of the room.

“We all heard you boasting, Lord Frederick. Now prove your honor and accept the challenge,” said Hawkesbury, sending a wink in Lucius’s direction.

“You—you tricked me into saying it.” The duke’s son pointed at Hawk, who only shrugged his shoulders. He searched the crowd for a sympathetic face and only found the same murmuring that Nettie had received.

“Let’s switch our wagers to how long the boy will whine.”

“I say he’ll run.”

“My money is on him accepting—then not showing.” Raucous laughter followed this comment.

“I do accept!” cried Lord Frederick.

In the end, no one would place a wager against Lucius to lose, so the last entry in White’s betting book had been:

Lord Frederick, running from Lord Page’s challenge—6; Lord Frederick accepting the challenge—4.

***

The match was brief. Lord Frederick had tried to insert a champion in his place, but when the man saw his opponent was Lucius, he returned the blunt. “Sorry, my lord, I didn’t know it was you. I’d much rather watch this than participate.”

As the two men faced one another, Lord Frederick made a fatal mistake in taunting his adversary. “Seems you have bad luck with women, Page. One stolen from you, one ruined while under your protection. You’re gaining quite the reputation.”

At the mention of Christiana, Lucius lost all control. He remembered his fist slamming into Lord Frederick’s face, then being pulled from the floor, arms still swinging. The duke’s son lay curled on his side, whimpering for mercy.

A week later, with Lord Frederick still in hiding while he nursed his battered face, Lucius realized the satisfaction of pulverizing the man had been fleeting. In all honesty, it was his fault Nettie was ruined. He had allowed his self-pity to control his life, let the dark take over when he’d never been the gloomy type, hurting his beloved sister. It was time to put away the regrets. Either he made a plan or put Christiana from his mind. This brooding had cost Nettie her chance at a good match. If it took him the next ten years, he would keep his sister safe until she was married and under another’s protection.