PROLOGUE
Derby, 1797
A bumblebee buzzed nearby,its little wings catching the summer sunlight, and Juliana Sinclair, granddaughter to the Duke of Derby, observed—carefullynotlooking at the carnage behind the stables.
“Touch it, Juliana,” Miles Sinclair taunted, his golden hair brightened by the sun.
Juliana wrinkled her nose, her stomach wobbling in disgust at her older cousin’s suggestion. She couldn’t even look at the poor creature. It was the third in a sennight that her cousins had boasted about torturing.
“Leave her alone.” Jasper gripped Juliana’s shoulder and pushed her behind him.
Her big brother was fourteen, and even though he was younger than Miles and Francis Sinclair, he would protect her.
“It’s just a bloody cat,” Jean Sinclair sighed, rolling her eyes skyward.
Juliana gasped. “You said a bad word!”
“I’meleven.Ican say whatever I want.” She huffed, notching her chin higher and carefully adjusting the brown curls at her temple.
Was it true? Were eleven-year-olds allowed to say such words? Juliana’s governess had told her that she oughtn’t use foul language atanyage, but Jean was six years older than Juliana and no one else said anything, so surely she must be correct.
“You’re just too stupid to know that it can’t hurt you now that it’s dead,” Francis intoned, running his hands through his thick, dark hair.
He was big, much larger than his younger brother. At eighteen years of age, he stood almost as tall as Papa, and his blue eyes were even meaner.
“Stupid,” Francis continued, “and ugly. Look at your gangling limbs and frizzy hair.”
“Ugly,” Jean enunciated.
Hurt spread through Juliana’s chest, but she still asked, “Does being ugly make me stupider?”
Francis sneered. “Yes.”
“I said leave her alone!” Jasper shouted.
“We don’t have to!” Miles shouted back. “Our father will be duke one day, and then Francis will be.Youwill have to do whateverwesay.”
“Your father will not become duke,” Jasper returned.
“I’m going to be a duchess.” Jean flounced, narrowly missing stepping on the deceased cat with one slippered toe.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Jasper corrected. “Your father might be older than ours, but he is illegitimate, so he will never become the duke.”
“I’m going to be a duchess!” Jean screeched.
Jasper shook his head. “Not unless you marry a duke. You’ll not inherit a title.”
“She can be whatever she wants to be,” Miles snarled, shoving Jasper.
Jasper shoved their cousin back, and Juliana’s heart skittered, fear prickling along the back of her neck. She didn’t really understand their argument, but she didn’t like that they were fighting.
“Stop!” She tried to pull at Jasper’s coat, but he moved out of her reach.
With a shout of alarm, he was hauled bodily from his feet and pressed hard against the back wall of the stables, a blade pressed to his throat. His feet kicked wildly, and he clutched at Francis’ hands where they held him firm.
“I could slit your throat from here…” Francis pointed the tip of the blade just under one of Jasper’s ears and slid it along the curve of his neck until he reached the other ear. “…to here. I could let you bleed out, crying, sputtering for breath, and pissing yourself—”
“Stop it,” Juliana begged, her body trembling. “Put him down.”
