“I think you could be of great service to us,” Mrs. Baxter said, “so long as you remember your place.”
“I will, Mrs. Baxter,” Vix assured her, looking directly into her eyes. “I will always remember my place.”
It was the greatest lie of them all.
PART I
THIS IS NOT A PROPOSAL
CHAPTER 1
TWELVE YEARS LATER
Ambrose Aster was morose.
He hadn’t meant to save that man’s life. He hadn’t even meant to be at that particular house for that specific party this Christmas.
It was only that there had been nothing else to do. So he had gone, and now here he was in this terribly inconvenient situation, facing down a knighthood he didn’t want.
His mother was going to be so horrifically proud.
Everything was awful.
He winced against the rays of sunlight that were currently assaulting his eyelids. Some idiot had forgotten to close the curtains last night, apparently.
So, while Ambrose would have been perfectly happy,blessed,even, to have slept for another day or three, it seemed the very universe itself was determined to disturb him. Wasn’t that always the way?
He sighed, slapping a hand up over his eyes to rub the grog from them before he attempted to look the world in its face again.
It was only then that he remembered he was not at home in his own bed.
“Oh,” he said, his voice cracked and dry as he opened his eyes and the darkened corners of the gambling den he’d slept in last night started to come into focus. “That’s right.”
He almost chuckled. Almost. Laughter was a bit much to ask from him today, after all. It wasn’t that he was suffering from bottle ache or anything half so pedestrian.
No, of course not.
Ambrose hadn’t allowed himself the escape of liquor the previous night. Not after that damned monogrammed announcement had shown up at his door, alerting him to his impending appointment with a sword at his neck.
No.
He had met the evening without the aid of dulled senses, because perhaps he deserved his pain. Perhaps he even enjoyed it, a little.
It was something different from the drudgery of constant success, anyhow.
He sighed again. Loudly.
The Flaming Fox was shadowed and shuttered at this early hour, lit only by those shafts of sunlight coming in from the blue tinted windows that lined the wall on either side of the front door.
Ambrose made a face.
There weren’t even any curtains to close, were there? Very inconsiderate.
He wondered how long he might remain here in restful repose today before he was bothered by the people who owned this establishment. This chaise was new and far more comfortable than it had any right to be.
He ought to be able to hide here for another couple of hours at least.
And then, as though to mock him for his hubris, a key rattled in the lock of the front door.
