Chapter One
Prior Hall
Bentley, Suffolk, England
1820
A door creaked open.
Roger.
Miss Lydia Prior slipped behind one of the carved oak pillars beside the staircase. Since her brother's arrival, she had avoided him. She might say or do something she would regret. Instead of mourning their father's death, Roger had hosted a house party to celebrate inheriting Prior Hall and the title of baron.
Roger emerged from Father's bedchamber across the landing; his steps unsteady from another night of drink. Another man joined him at the head of the stairs—one of the rakish friends Roger had brought from London.
Lydia shrank farther into the shadows, completely hidden from their view. Her gaze darted towards her bedchamber door. If she moved swiftly—and silently—perhaps she could slip inside unseen.
Then she heard her name.
Why were they speaking about her?
Chapter One
John Harcourt, the Earl of Brett, seized the letter addressed to his sister from the silver tray in the entrance hall. He was desperate to learn her lover's name. Earlier that evening, while strolling through the back garden, he had found Evelyn in a man's embrace—her gown askew, her hair unpinned. The scoundrel had fled, clutching his clothes, before Brett could catch a proper look at his face.
Brett unfolded the letter. The script was barely legible—flowery loops, slanting lines, and smeared ink. The letter overflowed with poetic praise of Evelyn's beauty and vows of everlasting devotion.
His heart pounded when he saw the signature.
Tanswell.
Lord Stephen Tanswell was indirectly responsible for the death of his older brother, Lord Chad Harcourt. That was why Evelyn had refused to reveal her lover's name. She knew how deeply he despised the baron.
Chapter One
Weybridge, Surrey
England
1830
Lady Julia Mary Emmett snapped her fan shut, strolled to the window, and gazed at the tombstones across from the vicarage. She turned to the vicar’s daughter. “Madelyn, your life is in danger. You must break off your betrothal, or you will end up in the graveyard. Like my cousin.”
Madelyn stopped mid-step. Her blue eyes were wide. “My betrothed is a London baron—wealthy, of great consequence. Lord Cuthell would never harm me.”
“Your betrothed,” Julia said, advancing until their skirts nearly touched, “is a murderer. Cruel. Vile. A fiend dressed in satin and velvet. If you wed him, he will destroy you!” Julia’s voice hardened. “Like he did to my cousin. Lord Cuthell wrapped his hands around Joanna’s neck and squeezed until she could no longer take in a breath of air. Her ribs were cracked. It was a horrible death. Lord Cuthell left her body in Hyde Park and called it a robbery.”
The colour drained from Madelyn’s face. She stumbled back and dropped onto the worn settee, arms folded. “That can’t be true!”
Lord Brett's Mansion
London, England
1821
Chapter One
Fowle Hall
Brentwood, Essex
1831
Lady Amelia Reade paused outside the study door and peered inside. The door stood open—odd in itself. A chill swept through her. Her father, the Earl of Fowle, with hair streaked with silver and gold-rimmed spectacles, looked every inch a respectable lord. She didn’t respect him. There was no one she despised more—or feared more.
She reluctantly stepped across the threshold into the cramped room, its walls crowded from floor to ceiling with her father's treasures purchased from every corner of the globe: polished vases, carved beasts, glittering gemstones, and ornate jewellery boxes.
Amelia glanced at the antique weapons displayed on the wall behind his desk. Her father would be shocked if he knew that she was skilled in using every single one of them. When he was in London, the swords, daggers, and pistols came down. Before his return, they were put back in place.
Her father was standing at the back of the room, near a shelf filled with jewellery boxes.