Chapter One
The Marquess ofStafford stood before the old stone house, its looming façade as forbidding as the memories it held. Blackwood Hall. The name alone left a sour taste in his mouth. Built from dark gray stone, the right wing smothered in thick coils of ivy, it sprawled wide enough to swallow five London townhouses whole. Time had passed, yet the place remained unchanged—cold and unyielding as the day he’d left it. Merely setting eyes upon it again stirred the old anger Jamie could never bury, a reminder that some stains upon the soul could never be washed away.
He’d lost part of himself within these walls. He might appear to be everything his lineage suggested, a man of consequence with one of the oldest titles in England, with wealth, estates, two sisters, and friends who loved him, but none of it had erased the demons Blackwood Hall had left him with, nor the numbness he still carried.
Jamie had learned to hide it. People saw a man who was amiable enough when required, a gentleman who walked in society alongside those of similar birth. His civility was a façade, and one he knew he would wear until he drew his last breath.
“I will find you,” he vowed, eyes fixed on the building. “I will hunt you like the animal you are and end you.”
Turning his horse on that vow, he headed back along the road as if the dogs of hell were at his heels. Bent low over the longblack neck, he let the cold wind lash his face, gulping in air—anything to rid himself of the furious rage.
The wind slapped him hard, accompanied by the rustle of leaves on the trees lining both sides of the road. Dark, cold, and alone.
“Fight it, Jamie.” Closing his eyes briefly, he tried to shake the memories and emotions the hellish years he’d spent boarding at Blackwood Hall still made him feel. Opening them, he saw a figure before him.
“Move!” Jamie roared. He was going too fast to stop.
At the last minute, the person leapt aside, diving into the trees.
“Whoa!” He reined in the horse and dismounted. “Stand, Archie!”
Sprinting back down the road, he searched for the figure. The cursing gave him his first clue as to where she was. He’d nearly run down a woman. This was a new low, even for him.
“Are you hurt?” He stepped into the bushes and reached for her. Gripping her waist, he pulled her out and back onto her feet. “Are you all right?” Jamie stepped back, not wanting to intimidate.
The moon allowed him to see her—well, the top of her bonnet—as she was busy slapping at her skirts.
“Why are you out here, madam, at this time of night, alone?”
Her hands stilled, and she looked up at him.
“Lady Alice?”
“Lord Stafford,” she snapped. “What the bloody hell did you think you were doing, riding down a country road at such breakneck speed at this time of day, sir?”
“It’s the middle of the night, my lady. What better time is there?” He’d never heard her swear before, which was also true for most people he encountered in society. Jamie rarely swore incompany. Even so, it was a surprise to hear the words come from her mouth. Lady Alice Smythe was everything that was proper.
“You nearly ran me down, my lord! While that may be amusing to you, I assure you, it is not for me!” She snapped the words at him.
“Forgive me, but I did not expect to see someone wandering along as if out for a stroll at such an hour.” His tone now matched her clipped one.
Jamie did not know Lady Alice well, though he had admired her from afar on the few occasions he’d seen her at society gatherings. There was a quiet refinement to her beauty that drew the eye. A serenity the ladies of the ton strove for but few possessed. She had a soft, pale complexion and hair the color of midnight. He didn’t know her exact age but knew the ton considered her well past marriageable.
Since her brother’s passing two years earlier, she had largely withdrawn from society, but even before that, she’d made only a few appearances each season. Jamie also knew that, like him, her brother had been a Blackwood boy.
“I have every right to wander where I wish, when I wish it, and I assure you I am no fool for doing so.” Her chin rose as he studied her face.
Her father, Lord Smythe, lived in France now, leaving Lady Alice with only her aunt for company.
“You’re out here alone, my lady, at night.”
“As you see.” The words were coated in ice.
“A woman walking in solitude at such a time is folly, Lady Alice. Any rogue could have chanced upon you.”
“As you are the only person I have encountered, and society often views you as a rogue, perhaps you are correct. However, your opinion carries no weight with me, Lord Stafford, and I do not care for it. Good evening.”
With those words, she turned and walked away, leaving him speechless for several seconds. It took a lot to set Jamie back on his heels.She’d just called him a rogue.
