CHAPTER 1
LONDON
April 1867
“What do you mean Artemis has eloped?” Lady Thalia Renier’s shocked exclamation reverberated throughout the cavernous drawing room of her father’s London townhouse.
Her stepmother, who sat on one of the flower-patterned upholstered sofas, took a sip of her tea with exaggerated nonchalance, as if she had not just announced her daughter’s elopement.
“Lower your voice, Thalia. There’s no need to make a fuss about it. Your father and I gave this union our blessing. True, I would have preferred a grand wedding, but the important thing is that the marriage goes through.”
“No need to make a fuss? Have you and my father both lost your wits?” Thalia’s voice increased in volume and pitch the longer this mad conversation continued.
“Well, they were engaged. The announcement has been made and all the contracts signed. Your father is very pleased with the financial arrangements, and everything is in order. Lord Andrew Radcliffe is a great catch.”
“My sister has eloped with a never-do-well rake, and you think this is a capital idea?”
Her stepmother actually smirked. “Well, he might be a rake, but as for never-do-well... I daresay he has done very well for himself indeed. Not only is he the brother and heir of theMarquess of Ashford, but he has amassed a tidy fortune for himself. Truly, your sister could not have done better.”
“I will find them,” Thalia said, storming out of the drawing room. “I will put a stop to this madness.”
Her stepmother rushed after her. “You will do no such thing. Nobody forced Artemis to elope. She and Lord Andrew are in love. For once, don’t make a fool of yourself.”
Thalia faltered for a moment as she yanked on her gloves and received her cloak from the butler. Her stepmother’s words stung. Was defending those one loved making a fool of oneself? If it was, so be it. But she couldn’t stand by and let her sister ruin her life. Her stepmother cared for nothing but money and status. In her description of Lord Andrew Radcliffe, her sister’s fiancé, those were the only two attributes she mentioned. What about character, integrity, loyalty? Did he love her sister? Would he be faithful?
She would go after her sister. She needed to at least try to stop Artemis from making the same disastrous mistakes she had made. Maybe she would catch her in time to prevent this ill-conceived union.
But where to begin the search? Well, Lord Andrew’s residence would be a start. Her stepmother had said he was the Marquess of Ashford’s brother.
Ashford...the name sounded familiar. Wait! Wasn’t that the man society called the Murderous Marquess after his wife died in mysterious circumstances? Good God! Whatever had possessed her father to allow her sister to marry into that family?
One thing was certain. She would get no help from her own family. If she was to save her sister, she would have to do it by herself.
WILLIAM RADCLIFFE,the Marquess of Ashford, didn’t know what to expect upon his return to London after five years, but it certainly wasn’t to be accosted in his own home, the very morning of his arrival, by a red-haired spitfire.
As he watched from the balcony above the foyer, the whirlwind of a woman barged past his surprised butler.
“Where is Lord Andrew? I need to see him at once!”
Judging by her irate expression, things would not go well for his scapegrace brother if the fiery lady caught him.
“Excuse me, miss?” he called in his most haughty voice. “May I be of assistance?”
Her gaze snapped up, seeking the source of the voice. Their gazes collided, and he felt a surge of satisfaction as her eyes widened for an instant, before she immediately narrowed them in defiance.
“Are you Lord Andrew?”
“Alas, no. Lord Andrew is my younger brother.” He descended the wide marble staircase with an easy stride and came to stand before her. “I’m Lord Ashford, at your service,” he said, executing a bow. “And who do I have the pleasure of receiving in my home?”
She blanched, and Liam’s temper surged at her reaction. No doubt she had heard the rumors and believed him to be a murderer. And yet...she had dared to come here.
“I’m Lady Renier, Lord Ashford,” she replied, sketching the briefest of curtsies.
Liam didn’t acknowledge her. He would have had her thrown out, except for two circumstances. One, he was looking for Andrew himself, and this woman’s reason for seeking his brother might be related to his own. And two; he was, quite simply, enthralled by her beauty.
As a sculptor, he was used to seeing the potential in a block of marble. To see the shape of the sculpture in the raw stone. Thattalent helped him where she was concerned. She wore a frumpy, unbecoming gown that covered her from neck to toe. Done in a strange shade of brown that clashed with her gorgeous coppery curls, the hideous garment had a ruffle around her shoulders. It fell almost to her waist, obscuring her curves. Yet it couldn’t hide the alluring dip and flare of her body from his practiced eye.
The structure of her face was a study of bold beauty. Slashing eyebrows, full of character and fire. Big, luminous eyes of a blue-gray hue that seemed to sparkle with inner light. High cheekbones and a wide, luscious mouth. Those lips provoked him almost beyond reason. He wanted to bite them, then soothe them with his tongue. He wanted to conquer them and then invade the warm, moist cavern of her mouth.
