PROLOGUE
In the spring
Max DeVille resisted the urge to pace, because years of tiptoeing about to avoid his father’s anger taught him that it was better not to draw attention with movement?—
No.Not his father’s.
His mother’s husband, if Mr. Prince was to be believed.
He glanced over his shoulder at the large window in the front foyer of Newfincy Castle, still not believing he was actually standing in acastleinScotland, for God’s sake! A few months ago, he would’ve said that such things were fairy tales.
Who knew that people actually lived in castles?
Your family does, apparently.
Even the Oliphant Inn, where he was staying, was older than his country! This entire land was ancient, with bloodlines stretching back centuries.
Swallowing, Max scrubbed his palms down the thighs of his best suit. Mr. Prince had paid for him to stop in New York City on his journey from Wyoming, and be outfitted with a new wardrobe.As befitting the new manager of my manufacturing plant, he’d said.
Max still felt like a fraud.
“Mr. Deville?”
At the sound of his name, Max whirled about, wishing he hadn’t given up his hat to the butler when he’d arrived, because he would’ve been grateful for something to clutch in front of him. The old man was now gesturing him forward.
A butler. Paid servants, not just unwanted children slaving away for a cruel parent. Laird Oliphant was wealthy indeed.
Max was proud of the way his voice didn’t crack too badly when he stepped forward. “Yes, sir?”
The butler’s lips twitched kindly. “This way, young sir. My name is Kidder, and you can call me that.”
Right. “Kidder?”
“An ancient family name,” the older man intoned formally. “It is serious business, being a Kidder.”
Max took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and followed the older man. Best to show that he understood the lesson in relative social ranking. “Thank you.”
For accepting me.
For teaching me.
For not thinking I’m the fraud I feel like I am.
Because if this stately older man ever found out who Max was—not his parentage, not this fancy suit, not even Mr. Prince’s trust, but who he wasinside—he’d turn his nose up at thepitiful worm, as Father used to say.
No. NotFather.Not anymore.
Max realized he was breathing too fast, and managed to slow his heart just as Kidder stopped before a huge oak door and knocked. “My Laird? Mr. Deville is here.”
“Well?” came the booming, slightly impatient voice from inside. “What are ye waiting for?”
Max’s eyes had gone wide at the sound. That washim.
Kidder opened the door, and Max stepped into a warm and welcoming study in a sort of daze. There was dark wood paneling, acres of shelves with fancy leather books, comfortable-looking chairs facing a cold hearth, and in the center…
A man, striding toward him, his hands out, a welcoming smile on his face.
Large, dark-haired. Brown eyes which stared at Max each morning from the mirror when he shaved. A nose which had been broken a few times, and a big bushy beard. And the smile…
