CHAPTER 1
Paddington Lands
For the first time officially, Keaton Deverall could call himself Duke of Westvale.
He was eighteen, and in control of the Dukedom that he had inherited at the age of fifteen, which had finally passed into his hands.
“Westvale—now that I can call you it—when do you think your first trip as Duke should begin?” boomed Edric Deverall, brother to Keaton’s late father and formerly regent Duke while Keaton was in his minority.
“Westvale…” Keaton whispered in a dreamy voice, leaning back in his seat. “It still does not seem real. I would not have you refer to me as Your Grace, though, Uncle. I cannot have honorifics from a man who dandled me on his knee when I was an infant.”
Edric guffawed. “Enjoy the title, old chap. Revel in it. With the Dukedom comes a great deal of freedom. Freedom to travel being the most important for the newest member of Palin's gentlemen's club for dromomaniacs.”
Keaton laughed at the description. It was apt. For as long as he could remember, he had dreamed over the maps in his father's library. Geography had been the one subject at which he had truly excelled, and any opportunity to travel with his father or Uncle Edric had been seized excitedly.
His ash blonde hair fell to his shoulders, framing a long, noble face with strong brows and a bold nose above a straight, resolute jaw. His eyes were the softest part of his face, light grey with flecks of green. He put his booted feet up on the seat of the carriage in which they both rode, letting the swaying motion rock him gently.
Here's to you, Father, for instilling in me a passion for discovery and exploration. And here’s to dear Uncle Edric for guiding me as duke-in-waiting.
“As soon as possible,” he answered Edric’s question. “Once I have unrestricted access to the finances, I can begin looking at the shipping lists and the overland routes through Europe. I have a passion to see the Russian Steppes. Or how about India?”
“I’m not one for traveling, as you know, Keaton. But if you want to go so far…”
“Yes! India! A ship around the Cape and up the east coast of Africa. That is exactly how I will begin—”
He was cut off when the carriage suddenly veered wildly before crashing to a halt. Both men were tossed from their seats. Shouts reached them from outside, and the screaming of panicked horses. Over it all came the flat crack of a pistol.
Highwaymen! It must be! And one of them has discharged at least one of his pistols. Pray that the blackguard only has one. It will take time to reload.
The door was snatched open to reveal a cloaked shape with a black mask over the lower half of his face and a black, tri-corn hat. A pistol was levelled at him, but Keaton kicked out, knocking the weapon aside and sending the man to the ground.
“Come, Uncle!” Keaton grunted, extending a hand. “Now's our chance!”
He stumbled to his feet, peering out of the carriage door. Two men on horseback blocked the road, one of them reloading a pistol. The other was pointing his at the driver. Keaton leaped down and grabbed the pistol from the man he had kicked from the carriage.
“Edric! Come on!” he barked again.
Edric was significantly older than Keaton and moved slowly.Tooslow for the youth whose blood was now well and truly up.
“There’s the Duke!” one of the brigands called.
Keaton’s blood went cold.
The door on the other side of the carriage opened, and a hand grabbed at Edric.
“Not him!” the same voice called out, “the younger one!”
Keaton knew now that this was a targeted attack. No opportunistic robbers here. He leveled the pistol, and the man who had grabbed for his uncle dropped out of sight.
“Go, boy!” Edric yelled, scrambling out of the carriage and onto the floor, “I will only slow you down!”
“I am not leaving you, Uncle, and I’ll make a ghost of the first man who gets too close!”
He was backing away from the carriage, one hand on his uncle’s arm, pulling him along. Keaton heard a movement from behind and whirled, pointing the pistol. A horse surged forward, rounding a bend in the lane. It pulled a trap, its driver suddenly standing up and wrenching the reins to the side, seeing the imminent collision in front of him.
The wheel struck Keaton as the trap flipped over. He spun to the ground, feeling a sickening pain in his shoulder. For a moment, there was silence. Highwaymen and victims alike were stunned by the unexpected appearance of the trap. The impacthad driven the air from Keaton’s lungs, leaving him unable to do anything but gasp and writhe, desperate to claw air back into his lungs.
He saw a man pulling himself from beneath the trap. Heard the highwaymen springing into motion. There was a bang, a searing heat, and a crushing pain at the back of Keaton’s head. As consciousness fled, he thought he heard a single, gasped name.
