Prologue
A country house party
Staffordshire, England
May 1819
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single lady in possession of no fortune must long to marry a duke’s son.
Unfortunately, Miss Leah Penn-Leith feared she had inadvertently killed one instead.
She stared down at the unmoving form of Lieutenant Lord Dennis Battleton illuminated in the firelight. He lay slumped beside her bedroom door, eyes closed, head tilted toward the left shoulder of his red regimental coat, blood trickling from his nose.
What have I done? WhathaveIdone?!
Panic tasted acrid, drying her throat.
This might be her first time attending a house party, but even Leah knew an evening of whist and laughter did not typically end in homicide.
Clutching her night rail to her chest, Leah nudged Lord Dennis’s Hessian boot, jiggling the tassel.
“My lord?” she whispered.
Nothing.
Snick.
The door to her bedchamber opened.
Leah stifled a startled scream and jumped back, meeting the gaze of Mr. Fox Carnegie, Lord Dennis’s close friend.
Mr. Carnegie peered into the room, skimming over her surely terrified expression, before spotting Lord Dennis’s supine form beside the door jamb.
“Blast,” he muttered and mumbled a string of profanity that Leah supposed would make a gently-bred lady swoon.
As she was notquitea gently-bred lady, she withstood the swearing with equanimity.
After all, the situation quite merited it.
Mr. Carnegie stepped into her bedchamber, quietly closing the door behind himself. It was scandalous for him to be in her room, but then so was killing a duke’s son, so Leah figured the horse had already bolted from the barn.
“I-I didnae mean tae hurt him,” Leah stammered on a whisper, her Scottish brogue deepening in her distress. “I awoke as he was trying tae climb into my bed. I just . . . reacted.” She mimed a kicking motion.
It had been a terrifying few seconds.
First, waking to feel large hands on her hips, the smell of brandy, and murmured slurred words, “I sh-shink you’ve been waiting for me, love.”
Then, her instinctively violent reaction, balling her body and kicking the unknown man with both feet, much like a bucking horse. Her aim had been true.
The man had staggered back, his head and shoulders hitting the wall with a resoundingthudthat rattled her bedchamber door.
Leah had scrambled out of bed, finally getting a good look at her assailant, horrified to realize she had attacked a duke’s son—Lord Dennis Battleton.
Now she watched as Mr. Carnegie stooped and placed an ear to Lord Dennis’s chest.
“His heart is strong,” he said, voice low.
Leah nearly sobbed in relief.
