Anthony’s survival instincts wouldn’t let him die this way. He tried to get on his feet, pain forcing him back on his knees. Using his hands, he dragged his broken body away from the danger.
De Villier abandoned my mama, and she suffered, died because o’ ’im. ’E paid the Wileys to abuse and imprison me, work me like a slave. And now the bastard wants me dead…my own father—tears rolled down Anthony’s face, despite his vow not to show weakness—…’e’s my enemy. I’ll never forget…
“Where do you think you’re going?” Wiley snarled.
Anthony crawled doggedly on. The vicious kick caught him in the ribs. He heard the snap of bones, the helpless cry of an animal claimed by the dark.
1
1830, Traverstoke, Country Estate of Curtis Billings
Miss Gabriella Billingsdashed into the moonlit courtyard. Her slippers took her down one of the graveled paths, away from the laughter of the guests and strains of the orchestra floating from the ballroom. She sought the sanctuary of hedges that lined the quadrangle. White marble statues of Greek gods gleamed in the darkness, seeming to offer protection from the outside world.
Under the watchful eye of Diana, Gabby couldn’t keep her emotions in any longer. All through supper and the dancing afterward, she’d kept a brave face, never letting her smile slip even in the face of subtle—and not so subtle—snubs. Years of experience had taught her that her best defense in such situations was to keep her expression cheerful and feign ignorance. To simply pretend that she didn’t understand the underhanded insults. If she didn’t give others the satisfaction of seeing their barbs hit home, then sooner or later they would leave her alone.
The strategy, while effective, was not without its cost. It required all of her willpower to keep her manner bright as the slights pierced her skin, their poison trickling into her lifeblood. Now her strength deserted her, tears leaking down her cheeks.
Father spared no expense in throwing this house party. All for your sake. Yet you’ve managed to become the outcast…of your own dashed fête.
She looked up at the sky, and even the stars, in their bright glory, seemed to be mocking her.
What’s wrong with me?she thought in despair.Why can’t I fit in? Why must I be the object of incessant ridicule?
“Good evening, Miss Billings.”
Gabby started at the smooth, cultured baritone. She swiped the backs of her gloved hands across her cheeks and pinned a smile in place before turning around. Her heart stuttered when she saw who was standing a few feet away.
Adam Garrity was one of her father’s business associates and the most ruthlessly elegant man she’d ever met. His coal-black hair was immaculately slicked back, his somber tailoring fitting his lean, virile figure like a glove. She guessed that he was a dozen years older than her own age of two-and-twenty, but his austerely handsome features defied such banalities as age.
She’d met him for the first time that afternoon when he’d arrived unannounced to the house party. Such was Garrity’s power that her papa, one of the wealthiest and most influential bankers in London, instructed her to have the best suite readied for their unexpected guest’s use.
“Whatever Garrity wants, Garrity gets,” Father had told her in no uncertain terms. “You must ensure that his stay is nothing short of perfection, Gabriella.”
All her life, she’d wanted desperately to please her papa, and this occasion was no exception. He’d spent an exorbitant amount on the party, renovating the sprawling country estate and providing first-rate entertainment and refreshments for the guests. He’d even provided her with a luxurious new wardrobe and dazzling jewels to match. All because he wanted her to make an aristocratic catch.
And you’re failing miserably at it…the way you’ve failed at everything.
Realizing that she still hadn’t answered the esteemed guest, she pushed aside her woes.
“Good evening, Mr. Garrity,” she said. “Are you, um, looking for something?”
“I’ve found what I’m looking for.”
She blinked, not certain how to respond. If he was with any other female, his comment might be construed as flirtatious. But since he was withher, he was likely being literal.
“You wanted a breath of fresh air in the courtyard?” she asked.
His gaze remained steady on her face. During their introductions earlier, she’d been struck by the intensity of his presence. His exquisite manners were paired with a predatory stillness. He didn’t say much, didn’t need to: it was as if he was simply waiting for one to make the wrong move. If life were a staring contest, Adam Garrity would always emerge victorious, the very last to blink.
She’d seen other guests scurry away from him, unable to bear his compelling authority. She, herself, found him fascinating. She’d recently readArabian Nights’ Entertainments,and he could have stepped out of the pages of her imagination. He was exactly how she pictured Shahriar, the mighty sultan whose betrayal by his adulteress wife led him to wed and execute a new bride every day…until the brave and beautiful Scheherazade captivated him with her stories, turning him from his dark path.
It wasn’t just Mr. Garrity’s inky hair and hard eyes, the cruel yet sensual curve of his mouth that reminded her of an ancient Persian king. It was his aura of power. That bone-deep male confidence bordering on arrogance that aroused a strange awareness in her…
“I wanted to know that you are well, Miss Billings,” he said. “I saw you leave the ballroom.”
That he’d noticed her absence was surprising enough. That he was concerned about her well-being and had made the effort to find her was downright shocking. Her pulse fluttered.
“You are ever so kind, sir,” she said breathlessly. “But I am quite well, as you see. The ballroom was just, um, a bit stifling.”
