CHAPTER ONE
London, July 1818
“You may have your promotion, Grim, on one condition, and I’m afraid it’s a condition you’re not going to like.”
His booted foot propped over the opposite knee, General Mark Grimaldi sat across the desk from Lord Allen, the minister of the Home Office. The older, bald man was Mark’s superior and one of the most influential politicians in the country.
Mark had been waiting for this day for what felt like his entire life. The adult part of his life, at any rate.
His breeches were smartly pressed. His shirt was perfectly starched. His cravat was expertly tied. His boots were shined to a glow, and he had a smile on his face. He was four-and-thirty years old. He’d worked his arse off, risked his life on numerous occasions, and given up nearly everything, all in the name of service to His Majesty. For the love of God. He’d nearlydiedfor this promotion.
Condition? Who cared about a blasted condition? There wasnothingthe minister could say that would stop Mark. He would become the Home Secretary, the head of the Home Office, or die trying.
Mark tugged impatiently at his cuff. “Out with it. There’s no condition I won’t accept.”
The minister stood. He folded his hands behind his back and walked slowly around to the other side of the desk where he towered over Mark, who remained seated. The minister cleared his throat. “Lord Tottenham doesn’t want a secretary who is a bachelor. He wants someone settled.”
Tottenham ran the Home Office. He was Lord Allen’s superior. Tottenham would be the one who made the final decision as to who the new secretary would be.
Grimaldi narrowed his eyes on the minister. “What do you mean,settled?” But he already knew. The pit in his stomach told him.
“A family man,” the minister intoned. “You must take a wife.”
Awife? The word hit Mark like a bullet to the chest. He was entirely self-made. By choice. By highly calculated choice. Now he’d set his sights on becoming the Secretary of the Home Office. Failure wasn’t possible. A wife wasn’t about to keep him from it.
He clenched and unclenched his fist by his side. By God, the irony. The unmitigated irony. He’d given his life to his work. No ties. No regrets. He’d given up everything including a social life and now, now they were asking for him to take awife? Politics could be both brutal and cruel. Today it was downright laughable.
“There is only one problem with my taking a wife,” Mark intoned.
“What’s that?” the minister asked, moving back around the desk to resume his seat.
This was it. The moment of truth. The time to admit to something he hadn’t admitted to in years. A humorless smile twitched his lips. “I’m already married.”
CHAPTER TWO
Somme, France, Late July 1818
Nicole raced across the lavender field atop her horse, Atalanta. Her head was down, the wind whipped her hair, and she had a smile of pure, exhilarated triumph on her face. There was nothing like racing a man and winning. TheComte de Rousselrode at her side. Or more correctly, he rode a few lengths behind her, trying to keep up. Henri was a kind man and a dear friend, but she had no hesitation whatsoever in beating him soundly at a race. Races were meant to be won, after all.
The fields were in full bloom and the fragrance of lavender filled the air. Nicole breathed in deeply, enjoying the sunshine on her face. It would probably cause more freckles, but so be it. She loved days like this. The sun high, the fields dry, the wind blowing her red hair. She never restrained the unruly locks when she rode. This was what freedom felt like.
Out of the corner of her eye, Nicole spied Rochard,her servant, running across the field, flagging her down with his hat. “Madame, madame, you have a visitor,” he called in country French as she neared him.
Nicole slowed Atalanta to a halt and shielded her eyes to look across the field. A visitor? She wasn’t expecting a visitor today.
Then she spotted him. Her heart dropped into her boots. Her pulse stuttered, then raced. She would recognize that form anywhere. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, impeccably dressed. She didn’t need to be close enough to see what he was wearing to know that. There was only one man who looked like that, who stood like that, who was even now watching her with a mixture of curiosity and ill-concealed distaste. Again, she didn’t need to be close enough to know that.
Merde.Her husband was here.
Thecomteslowed his horse to a halt nearby. His gaze followed hers. “A visitor?” he asked in flawless aristocratic French.
“Oui.”Then she swore under her breath.
“Who is it?” thecomtecontinued. “An Englishman from the looks of him.”
She curled her lip slightly. “Oh, he’s English all right.”
He was decidedly English and even more decidedly a complete ass. One she’d never thought she’d see again. At least not alive. It was so like Mark to arrive unannounced after all these years and expect not to be thrown off the premises. The element of surprise had likely been his tactic. If he’d informed her he’d be paying her a visit, she would have come up with some convenient excuse not to see him.
