PROLOGUE
It is said that when lowly Baron Sinclair saved the powerful Duke of Raven from certain death in 1335 by single-handedly killing the three men who attacked his carriage, King Edward III was grateful. Raven was a wise and sage counsel he had no wish to lose, therefore, he rewarded Sinclair with the land that sat at the base of Raven Mountain. Having shown himself capable of the duty, Baron Sinclair was now, in the eyes of the King, to be the official protector of the Ravens.
Over the years the tale has changed and grown as many do. There were rumors of strange occurrences when a Sinclair saved a Raven in the years that followed. Unexplained occurrences that caused many to wonder what it was that the Sinclairs were hiding, but one thing that never changed was their unwavering duty in the task King Edward III had bestowed upon them.
To honor and protect the Raven familywas the Sinclair family creed.
CHAPTERONE
Miss Dorset Sinclair pulled the edges of her cloak together. The slide from summer into autumn had brought a bite to the London air. Of course, some of her chill could be contributed to the fact she was here, seated alone in a hackney, directly disobeying her family’s edict: Never leave this house unescorted.
Now, she and her twin sister had of course done that many times but always had each other for company. Dorrie was in this hackney alone, and not in the most savory of places.
Since her sister Somer had fallen in love, Dorrie had been cast adrift. Somer was her twin, and as such they were two peas in a pod. Until suddenly they weren’t. Gus was who Somer turned to when she needed comfort or advice now, not Dorrie.
“And you are petty and churlish to be jealous of that.”
Two nights ago, she had been approached at a ball by Miss Ellen Nightingale, whom she’d become quite close with since Somer’s engagement. Somer and Dorrie had once thought her snooty and rude. Getting to know the woman, Dorrie realized they’d been wrong. That was a façade for a woman who had a quick wit and sharp mind… and needed help.
Ellen had known that Dorrie, Somer, and their brother Warwick ran an investigative service and had asked her to follow Viscount Seddon, Ellen’s father. Upon further questioning, she’d given Dorrie the reason why.
Ellen had been made aware of her family’s financial circumstances by a man demanding money on behalf of her father’s tailor. Many more had soon followed. It seemed Lord Seddon had not been paying his bills.
She had attempted to speak with her mother, but Lady Seddon had refused to discuss the matter, stating it was no concern of hers. Her two elder brothers were away from London, and her younger siblings should not be burdened with what was unfolding.
Ellen knew that her father had absolute control of the finances but hoped that with proof her mother would at least be forced to see what was happening and speak with him or they would soon be destitute. Dorrie had assured her that Sinclair Investigative Services would get it.
So here Dorrie was, after making that rash promise without first discussing it with her siblings, sitting outside what appeared to be a seedy tavern, watching and waiting for Lord Seddon to reappear through the gloom and darkening sky. It was closing in on late afternoon, and she would need to leave soon or her family would be alerted to the fact she was not at the office with Samantha.
She’d told Samantha she was visiting a friend.
“So many lies,” Dorrie sighed. She would trip over one of them if she wasn’t careful.
Thus far she’d followed Lord Seddon to a list of places, all of which she’d noted down in her notebook to relay to Ellen in the morning.
At the moment he was inside a narrow wooden building close to the docks. She’d asked the driver upon each occasion Lord Seddon had frequented a venue if he knew what lay inside. All but one had been a gambling establishment. That one had been a brothel.
Dorrie and her siblings were not what society termed “normal.” Each had a heightened and overactive sense. Hers was scent; thus the air wafting in through the half open window had her pressing her handkerchief to her nose. It reeked of fish, rotten food, and several other unpleasant odors she had no wish to identify.
The area was disreputable, but there was little she could do but wait and watch. Being a woman made things tricky, as she could not simply waltz into the gambling hell Lord Seddon had entered. She must sit and wait, with her notebook at the ready to jot down times and details.
Warwick was away from London at the moment, questioning a butler about the stolen necklace from Lady Lovelace’s jewelry box. Somer was planning her wedding, so Dorrie had decided she’d follow Lord Seddon herself. She would report her findings to Ellen, and if she wanted to go further, tell Warwick and Somer.
Yes, it was likely reckless, but she wasn’t in danger as long as she stayed inside the hackney. She’d paid the driver a huge sum to run her about without question. He’d also proved a font of useful information.
The acrid scent filled her nostrils so quickly, it was almost hard to breathe. The bitter taste that followed had Dorrie looking out the window, but she could see no danger. Usually this reaction was reserved for her family if they were hurt or in trouble. Scooting across the seat, she looked out the other window and saw him. A man clutching his thigh and staggering. Her eyes went left and found another man, pistol raised.
Dorrie threw open the carriage door. “Stop!” She screamed the word into the chilly London air. It gave the man holding the pistol a fright, and he bobbled it.
“Do not shoot this man!” Dorrie demanded.
He turned his pistol on her, so she hiked up her skirts and pulled her own pistol from the band she’d placed it in. Dorrie dropped to a crouch, and the shot went over her head and lodged into the door of the hackney.
“’Ere!” the driver roared.
Dorrie aimed and fired. She heard no corresponding grunt, but she did hear the sound of retreating feet.
“I will pay you double if you stay there!” Dorrie yelled at the driver. She then ran to the man slumped against a building.
