Page 1
Chapter One
Ravenswood, The Marquess of Redver’s estate
August 1818
Any moment now.
The setting sun glimmered, transforming the diamond-mullioned panes in Ravenswood’s oriel window into rows of blood-streaked knives. Miss Lenora Wainwright stood just beneath the glass, poised to enter a century-old yew maze.
She strained her ears, listening for the footsteps of Simon James Langdon, sixth Viscount Asquith.
She was out of patience, out of humor, and nearly out of time. Unless she took drastic action, the boy she’d long ago fallen in love with—the boy with the wild eyes, the broken hand, and the poorly hidden hurts—would never be hers.
Against all odds, she must prove to Asquith that she was the wife he needed.
The ton’s matchmakers might have promoted a union between them, but her father doomed the match when he’d named Asquith her testamentary guardian.
Blast Mr. Wainwright. Even in death Lenora’s father found a way to cause her pain.
Society frowned upon guardians who married their wards. Worse still, even if she could convince Asquith to wed, the Lord Chancellor would need to approve their betrothal.
Thud, scratch, thud, scratch.
Her heartbeat quickened. She inhaled, embracing the inner qualities she needed to transform herself into her sister Millicent when she was hunting—vigilance. Cunning. Patience.
If she revealed herself too soon, Asquith would flee. Lately, he’d become a master at disappearing, especially when she entered a room. She could not let him vanish tonight.
“Millie?” Asquith whispered.
She’d signed her sister’s name on her summons.
“Millie?” Asquith rounded the corner. “Just what do you need to discuss that we couldn’t have discussed inside the—”
Lenora raised her face; Asquith stopped short.
Golden light blanketed his wide brow and chiseled nose. His country-style clothing—short coat, buckskins, boots, and neckcloth tied in a simple knot—made him look mature. Solid. Reliable.
A gentleman in his element.
Fifteen years she’d known him, years that had transformed an awkward boy into a thoughtful, stoic man. The same years left her confident she wanted no other husband.
With him, she would be safe. With her, he would be happy.
“Asquith.” She acknowledged him with a slight bow, the kind he’d receive from a fellow peer. “I am so glad you came.”
“You sent the note? The deuce!”
A smile ghosted her lips. “So you can use foul language.”
He frowned. Then, he glanced up and over his shoulder.
The last time she had looked, her eldest sisters had been standing with their backs toward the glass. If either of them turned around, they would catch her and Asquith together in the garden. But trapping him into marriage wasn’t her aim.
A forced union would fulfill her needs, but what she truly desired was kinship, not obligation. If her plan held, blackmail would only initiate their liaison.
If—no, when—they made it to the altar, the love between them would be real. And mutual. And everlasting.
She wasn’t completely selfish.
