Chapter One
Madelina Greydrake halted at the top of the grand staircase in her father’s, the former Marquess of Westlock’s, London home. Mahogany steps draped in cream and gold carpet curved away before the toes of her slippers, the thick ply a cascade of brightness in the two-story entrance hall. The arc of the wall, mahogany paneling that devoured the glittering candlelight cast by the enormous chandelier, hung dense with gilt-framed portraits. From them, glowering old men and lovely, dead-eyed women stared endlessly outward. Madelina’s gaze settled on the largest and newest of the portraits. Her father’s over-wide mouth curved in a mirthless smile. Her eyes narrowed in impotent hatred. The marquess had been lain to rest two years past. He was far beyond retribution.
“At least he died ill and unloved,” she murmured. Scant comfort compared to the suffering he ought to have endured for his crimes.
Her hands curled, one about the railing to her left, the other creasing the gossip sheets she’d been pursuing before nearby church bells rang out the hour. Any moment, her half-brother, Lord William Greydrake, current Marquess of Westlock, would arrive with his lovely wife, Lanora, to escort Madelina to her first London ball. They would expect her to descend this staircase, crystal-kissed cream muslin rustling and countenance aglow with excitement at her long-awaited introduction to theton. To them, she was a young woman who’d spent over a decade away at finishing school, readying for this very moment.
But Madelina was not that girl, and she could not tread that staircase.
In her mind echoed a scream, the last sound to pass her mother’s lips. Though issued nearly a dozen years ago, that fear-wrenched sound reverberated down the steps.
Madelina’s slipper-clad feet refused to budge.
She must, as on every other day since taking up residence in her late father’s home that spring, take the servants’ stair. And do so now, before anyone saw her to ask why. She would await William in the entrance hall.
She turned and gasped. “Aunt Aubrey.” Madelina pressed a hand to her hammering heart.
“You let me sneak up on you, child.” Her mother’s older sister, Aubrey Saint Lawrence, loomed straight backed and tall, both hands resting on the head of her raptor-topped cane. “You know better.”
Madelina flushed. She did know better. She’d trained for over ten years, not for concerts and balls and the pursuit of an ideal husband, but as a weapon. She would defend the preyed upon…as did Lord Lefthook. It mattered not at all that he neither knew of her existence nor had invited her to join him in the task. She would prove her value to him when she began protecting those who could not protect themselves.
Madelina licked her lips, opened her mouth, closed it again. No excuse would satisfy Aunt Aubrey. “I was remiss.”
Aunt Aubrey slammed the tip of her cane to the carpet, the sound booming despite the thick pile. “You are in danger here in London, girl. Never forget.”
“But we haven’t even begun.” After nearly a month in London, her aunt had yet to permit her to act as champion to the downtrodden, or even to seek out and observe Lord Lefthook. Instead, Madelina had endured a tedious mixture of teas and shopping.
“Sloppiness is the greatest danger.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Madelina drew her shoulders back and firmed her stance.
“That’s better.” Aunt Aubrey gave a sharp nod. “Now, go down the stairs.”
Madelina met those flint-gray eyes under snow-white hair pulled into a hard bun, eyes so like her own but more at home in her aunt’s lined face. “No.”
Aunt Aubrey’s eyebrows shot up. “No?”
Madelina shook her head. White-blonde curls swished across her shoulders. “No.”
“Someday, you must.”
“Someday, I will.” Madelina strode away from the stairs. She pressed the crumpled paper on her aunt as she passed, pages folded open to that morning’s article about the exploits of London’s famous vigilante for the poor, Lord Lefthook.
Madelina made her way down the steep back staircase and through the shadowy corridors of the Westlock London home, encountering no one. Though William supplied her with a generous allowance, Aunt Aubrey permitted only a very small, select staff, so the emptiness proved no surprise. When Madelina reached the entrance hall, a glance upward showed that hallway vacant, too, her aunt nowhere to be seen. The nearly deaf young man who served as their butler materialized, Madelina’s outerwear in hand.
“Thank you, Wilks,” Madelina mouthed, not bothering to add sound to her pleasantry. Wilks would read her lips, and she didn’t care to muster the volume required for him to actually hear her words.
He dipped his head in acknowledgment.
Light shifted behind the beveled glass of the leaded front windows. A conveyance approached, carriage lanterns dancing. Those swaying orbs halted without. Madelina would have preferred the candles in the great chandelier overhead be extinguished so she could see into the night to assess any level of danger, but standing in darkness would be too odd even with the excuse of Aunt Aubrey’s eccentricities, already liberally employed to explain their lack of staff.
Madelina forced her muscles to relax as she slipped on her gloves. Given the hour, the conveyance must certainly bring her half brother, quite the opposite of a threat. Soon enough, a shadow moved up the townhouse steps. When it reached the stoop, the lanterns there illuminated William, his face carved into a multitude of fragments by the beveled windowpanes.
Wilks glided forward to open the door before the marquess could knock.
As William stepped in, his gaze found her and his smile warmed. “You look especially lovely this evening, Madelina.”
She mustered a blush, as any naive young miss would upon receiving her first compliment. “Thank you.”
