Chapter1
London, England
April 1806
Lady Diana Latimer pulled the polished rosewood door open and peered around its edge.The room behind it proved to be the library, and it was deserted.Perfect.Slipping inside, she shut the door behind her and leaned against it, pressing her hand to her heart.
The London Season had scarcely begun, and already she was sick of it.She had been raised by her Great-Aunt Griselda in an isolated house on the edge of Ilkley Moor.Growing up, there had been no glittering parties, no routs with a thousand guests crushed into a single mansion.There had been Diana, her great-aunt, a handful of servants, the pack of brown and white speckled pointers Aunt Griselda raised, and occasionally, when he was able to get away for a visit, her brother, Marcus.Her friends had been of the imaginary sort.
Such isolation had been necessary.Diana and Marcus’s father had been a violent man.When Diana was two, he had killed her mother in a fit of rage by pushing her down the stairs.He had managed to escape punishment thanks to his status as a duke.Two years later, he returned to the family home and selected Diana as his new target.
That was when Marcus, who was nine years her senior, had managed to remove her to Aunt Griselda’s protection.
But when Marcus inherited their father’s title three years ago, he had brought Diana to London to take up a life befitting the sister of a duke.In Yorkshire, she had spent her days dressed in plain wool, tramping across the moors with her great-aunt and a pack of dogs.The only adornment to her gown had been the twelve inches of mud gracing her hem.They would shoot their own dinner and roast it over an open fire, and on the rare occasions when the English weather cooperated, they would sleep out under the stars.
And now, she found herself here, wearing a gown of delicate white silk and handmade lace that cost more than most men would earn in a lifetime.She had paired it with a necklace of aquamarines—a birthday gift from her brother, chosen because the pale blue stones perfectly matched her eyes.
Diana knew she shouldn’t complain, knew there were scores of young women who owned only one set of clothes and had to struggle to scratch out a living working in the mills or sewing until their fingers bled.She knew just about every girl in England would give her eyeteeth to be the younger sister of a duke, and the richest heiress in all of England.But when she passed by a mirror and caught a glimpse of herself, it was always a shock to see a girl in silk and jewels staring back at her.A part of her still expected to see the shabby wool coat she had worn back in Yorkshire and a streak of mud on her cheek.
She also remembered how lonely she had been before coming to London.How she used to gaze at the empty night sky and issue a silent plea to the Almighty to send her a little company.
She had found it.And she had made some wonderful friends, especially the Astley twins, Lucy and Isabella.
But in retrospect, perhaps she should have been more specific when she was wishing upon a star and asked not just for some company but for someintelligentcompany.
Hence her need to steal away from the party for a moment of quietude.She found these huge London gatherings exhausting in general, and as the evening wore on, it became increasingly difficult to maintain a cordial veneer while surrounded by her ever-present flock of inane suitors.
Speaking of which… Diana turned back toward the door, pressing her ear against its panels.There were footsteps in the hall, accompanied by voices.
Malevoices.
Someone was coming.
With skill born out of practice, Diana hurried across the library on tiptoes, identifying the perfect hiding place as she went.She deftly slipped behind the poppy-colored taffeta curtain just as the door swung open.
“Not in here, either,” a man with a high, petulant voice said.“Where is she hiding?”
Behind the curtain, Diana frowned, wondering who their quarry might be.
“Come on,” a different male voice, this one slow and dull, answered.“I’m sick of tramping through every room in this bloody house.”She heard the soft slide of a drawer opening, followed by the muffled clatter of someone sifting through it.
“Look what we have here!”the second voice said.“Let’s sit a minute and take advantage of Lord Richford’s hospitality.”
There were footsteps followed by the scrape of a chair against the hardwood floor.The pungent smell of cheroots confirmed the identity of the item they had discovered in Lord Richford’s desk drawer.
“There,” the second man said.“That’s better.So, why does it have to be her, anyway?”
“I told you.I need an heiress.”
Diana rolled her eyes.These two sounded like some ofhersuitors.Which was to say, insipid.
“Well, what’s wrong with that friend of hers?”the second man asked.“She’s just as pretty.”
“Do you mean Lady Lucy?”the first man asked.
That got Diana’s attention.Because she knew a Lady Lucy—Lucy Astley, her particular friend.
She reminded herself that there were three hundred people in attendance at this party, and it was likely that several bore the addressLady Lucy.It could easily be a coincidence.
