Prologue
To say that Ramsey Scott never had a childhood would be an understatement. His mother, God rest her soul, passed away shortly after delivering him into the world—a world that gained a sudden chill at the departure of her sweet soul. His ever-scowling father, the Marquess of Sterling, took the small swaddled babe from the midwife and strode into the hall from the birthing room, without a backward glance. There had been little affection between the two parents, and as such, Ramsey’s mother had been a means to an end . . . the end being an heir.
His father, now assured that his line would continue, had a single purpose in mind.
Honor.
But not in the way the virtue deserved attention. No, honor in its most depraved form, honor that came from perfection, from abstaining from scandal, honor that came at a dear price.
Because the only other option if not honor, was shame. And it was indeed something with which the marquess was quite familiar. Shame had followed him his whole life, at the hands of his own father . . . and as stories go, as history goes, it was bound to find repetition within the sterile halls of Glenwood Manor. So, even before Ramsey Scott was an hour old, so started the path of his life.
A path that had but one end.
Ruin.
Because who can achieve perfection?
None.
Yet who can attain shame?
All.
Every last one of us.
