Chapter One
“…love is love for evermore.”
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson
England, 1878
Maggie, Marchioness of Sandhurst, knew when to concededefeat, and now was proving just such a moment. Glumly, she watched the firstevening of Lady Needham’s infamous country house weekend unfolding in all itsraucous glory. Good heavens, a masked lady’s nipples were nearly visible abovethe décolletage of her black evening gown as she sipped champagne and flirtedshamelessly with a masked gentleman.
Had Maggie ever thought she could live fast like the MarlboroughHouse set? Curse the poetry in her soul. It appeared it had once more led herdown a dark and danger-laden path. She had tamped down her desire for adventurefor many years, only to wind up firmly mired in disenchantment once more.
In her heart, she knew that what she was truly seeking couldnever be found inside the ballroom before her. Jonathan was lost to herforever. It had been more than a year since she’d last seen him. She knew shehad to forget him for her own self-preservation. It was one of the reasonsshe’d found herself in this room.
Foolish girl, she chastised herself.No, scratchthat. Foolish woman.
Yes, she was a woman grown, living an ocean away fromeverything and nearly everyone she knew. She was a wife, even if it felt moreas if she were an unwanted relation instead. Perhaps most importantly, she waslonely, desperate for a taste of passion, for a kind touch, a melting kiss. Butinstead all she felt watching the glittering, tittering group before her was asoul-aching emptiness.
There was no hope for it. She wasn’t cut from the same clothas her fellow revelers, for watching them only made her want to retire to herchamber, snuggle beneath the covers and read the volume of poetry she’d broughtalong with her. If only she hadn’t chosen duty instead of love.
With a sigh, she turned away from the swirls of skirts andthe dashing sight of masked rakes wooing their eager female counterparts. Andpromptly froze after two steps as she heard an unmistakable sound above thelaughter and the music and the rumble of inebriated voices. It was the onesound a lady never wanted to hear, the sound that invariably made her shudderin her silk shoes.
The awful sound of fabric rending.
Her train, to be specific. The lush fall of silk designed byWorth himself. Hopelessly torn. Dismay mingling with true despair within her,she turned to find the culprit. He was dressed to perfection in evening black,taller than she, his face obscured by an equally midnight half-mask. He didn’tappear to notice her, his glittering green eyes instead traveling the sea ofiniquity above Maggie’s head.
Dear heavens, what a lout. Perhaps he was a drunkard aswell. Stifling the urge to roll her eyes in frustration, she attempted to gainthe man’s attention, for he still stood upon the mangled remnants of herbeautiful violet silk. “Pardon me, sir?”
He either ignored her, or didn’t hear her, caught up in themadness of the ball. For a moment, she had the distinct impression his mind wasin truth far away from the ballroom crush. He seemed to look past them all,lost in his own meandering thoughts.
But be he inebriated, enthralled, or distracted,unfortunately the man was still on her skirts. “Sir?” She raised her voice,trying not to call too much attention to herself for she was ashamed she’d evendeigned to attend the notorious party in the first place.
He remained oblivious. Perhaps he suffered from a hearingproblem. Oh dear. It seemed she had no choice if she wanted to save her trainfrom further damage. Maggie reached out and laid a tentative hand on his arm.“Sir?”
He gave a start and turned the force of that startling mossygaze on her. “Madam?”
His arm was surprisingly well-muscled, his coat warm withthe heat of his large body. She withdrew her hand with haste as if he were apot too long on the stove that she’d inadvertently touched with her bare hand.He still didn’t realize he was trampling her gorgeous evening gown. It took hera breath to regain her composure under the force of those piercing eyes.
“Sir,” she began hesitantly, “I’m afraid you’re standingupon my train. If you’d be so kind?”
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered, startling her with his bluntlanguage. His penetrating stare dropped to the floor and he quickly removed theoffending shoes from her silk. “Ah Christ, it’s ripped to bits, isn’t it?”
She cast a dreary eye over the effects of his feet. “Iexpect it will require some correction, yes.”
Correction was rather an understatement. Both her silktrain, complete with box-pleated ribbon trim, and a lace-and-jet overlay werebadly torn. She wasn’t certain a seamstress’s hand could make repairs withoutthem being obvious to the eye. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford a new gown,but this had been her first occasion wearing it, and it had been unbearablylovely.
“I’m truly sorry, my dear.” His voice sounded cross, drawingher attention back up to his frowning mouth. “If you’ll allow it, I’ll be happyto have it repaired for you.”
His mouth was especially fine, she noted against her betterjudgment, firm yet sculpted. He had a generous mouth. Kissable. Dear heaven.What was she about, swooning over an unknown man’s lips? She swallowed, forcingherself to recall what he’d just said.
“I appreciate your offer, sir, but I have a wonderfulseamstress.” She frowned, thinking of the dressmaker she used in London when ina pinch. Very likely, the entire train would require replacing.
“But the fault is mine,” he persisted, suddenly playing thegentleman now that she’d finally gained his attention.
“Nonsense,” she parried, feeling slightly foolish over herwomanly horror at the damage to her gown. It had not been intentionally done,after all, and she had more than enough coin for Madame Laurier’s alterations.“Of all things that need mending, mere fabric is by far the easiest and leastcostly.”
He tilted his head, considering her with a fathomless starethat made her skin tingle to life with a dizzying warmth. “I sincerely doubttruer words were ever spoken.”
There was an intensity underlying his words that made herbelieve he was sincere and not merely another rake plying meaningless flattery.For the first time since stepping into the whirlwind of the ballroom, Maggiewas intrigued.
