Prologue
Ravenswood, The Marquess of Redver’s Estate
August 1818
Just as everydandy knew London’s best bootmaker was Hoby’s on St. James, Lord Neville—Ambrose Augustus Merriweather—knew the Wainwright sisters were up to something wicked.
Again.
This time the Wainwrights had chosen Lord Asquith, Neville’s friend and their guardian, as their mark—but only if Neville failed to rescue Asquith first.
Neville squinted into the gathering gloom but could barely see the yew maze entrance where he’d just seen Asquith with Lenora Wainwright.
“Neville! Slow down!” Millicent Wainwright’s furious voice whispered through the evening air. “Please.”
Millicent’s demand quickened Neville’s pounding pulse, but he paid her no heed. Her desperation was further proof Asquith and Lenora had neither met, nor disappeared, into the maze by chance. And no decent young ladies with honorable intentions would be sneaking around in the brush at dusk.
Someone had to stop those Willful Wainwrights!
The eldest two, twins, had already been embroiled in a scandal that ended in marriages to Neville’s most reclusive friends. And settling that matter had even forced Neville to actas second when Asquith challenged Neville’s own cousin on the twin’s behalf!
Who knew what kind of havoc the youngest three would wreak, if left to their own devices?
Ever since Asquith’s wayward wards had set foot in London two years ago, Neville’s predictable world had gone awry. But instead of keeping his distance like the man of sense he knew himself to be, Neville had ignored every inner warning. Shamefully, he’d chosen to hover a along the edge of their collective glow like a moth drawn to the deadly flames of a five-part candelabra. Why?
Because Millicent, the brightest, stood right in the center.
Well, Millicent had made it clear she had no use for him, and Nevillewas notgoing to get singed again. Nor was he going to allow Asquith to fall victim to whatever scheme the sisters had set in motion.
He ducked into the maze and then paused to listen.
Should he call out for Asquith? Or should he approach by stealth?
As the crackle of Millicent’s footfalls drew ever closer, he decided on the latter. He increased his pace, muffled his heavy breath, and, with regret, thought back on the time just after Asquith’s bevy of wards had arrived from the country.
When he first met Millicent, he would have been thrilled if she had chosen to follow him into a darkened maze. In fact, in those initial few weeks, he’d dreamed of catching Millicent alone and confessing his admiration.
Or, rather, his at-first-sight, head-over-heels infatuation.
The sisters had taken up residence at Asquith House under the dowager Lady Asquith’s care, while Asquith, for both comfort and propriety, had moved into the Albany. But, after the requisite mourning period had passed, the dowager hadarranged for her son to bring a few friends to a series of family suppers she planned, hoping to give the girls town polish.
Cue Neville’s madness.
When had the inaugural gathering taken place? The November before last?
The night had been cold, anyway—unlike tonight’s humid heat. Frost had edged the windows. He’d caught his first glimpse of Millicent in a halo of ice-dusted glass… silky, chestnut hair and finely chiseled features. He’d thought her the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, and that had been from the distant vantage of a chilly, cobblestone street.
Inside, her presence had infused the air with warmth. When he’d slipped into the dining table chair at her side, scalding vibrations traveled straight to the tingling tips of his fingers. Then, as one course had been brought out and another taken away, Millicent had transformed from a stunningly pretty face into his epitome of an ideal young lady.
She’d sat erect, listened attentively, hadn’t spoken unless spoken to first—all things he’d found as charming as they were proper. Her answers to his questions had been simple and succinct, but not without intelligence. He’d even found himself making mental lists of books and topics he’d thought would enhance, mold, and deepen her understanding.
Inwardly, he grimaced.
Pompous, perhaps.
In his defense, she’d given him reason to believe her to besomewhatlacking in sophistication.
When Asquith had teased her about her reticence, she’d responded with a furrowed brow, as if her guardian’s criticism was beyond her grasp.Of course,Neville had found such perfection in need of guidance and protection.