Prologue
Basingstoke Castle– February 1860
Julian Tremaine, the Earl of Basingstoke, crushed Lady Jane Bennett’s hastily scrawled note in his fist as he strode quickly through the wooded hills that separated his own country estate from that of Jane’s father, the Marquess of Langston. He couldn’t imagine what had prompted her to send for him. Jane had never been given to dramatics, so he knew something must be terribly wrong.
Meet me at our special place, she’d written.I need you.
Though less than a mile separated his property from hers, the walk through the trees seemed to take forever, the chill wind cutting through him like a knife as his mind raced with the possibilities. When he finally crested the hill above the small hunting cottage where he and Jane had shared their first kiss just six short months ago, he found her waiting for him out front, the weak winter sun catching in her golden hair. Even from this distance, he could tell that she was crying.
His heart seized in his chest, and he stumbled to a stop. Her tears reminded him of his mother, sobbing in her bed after the deaths of his older brother and younger sister. All of his subsequent memories of her had been filled with her tears, until she’d finally joined his siblings, dying of what he’d always been convinced was a broken heart. A woman’s tears had wrecked him ever since.
Jane had always been so sunny and bright. In fact, that was probably what drew him to her, why he loved her so deeply. She represented happiness for him, and since his life sometimes seemed to be just one tragedy after another, he desperately needed that.
For one cowardly moment, he wanted nothing more than to turn and run back the way he had come, completely uncertain of his ability to give her the comfort she so obviously needed. Shaking himself, ashamed that he’d allowed such a thought to cross his mind, he ran toward her instead, sweeping her up against him in a tight embrace.
“Jane,” he murmured into her lavender-scented hair, finding comfort of his own in the feel of her body pressed to his. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying, sweetheart?”
She shook her head against his chest, sobbing even harder now. “It’s... my father...” she managed at last.
“Your father?” he asked, cupping her chin and lifting her face, staring down into her lovely tear-streaked face. Her blue eyes were puffy and swollen, as though she’d been crying for days. “What happened to your father?”
Her eyes welled with fresh tears. “He’s... gone.” Her bottom lip trembled. “Oh, Julian. He didn’t come down for breakfast.... And when... his valet tried to wake him...”
“Ah, Jane... I’m so sorry.” He hugged her even tighter, knowing all too well how it felt to lose a parent. His mother had died five years ago, and his father had drunk himself to death only a few years later. In all, he’d lost four of the five members of his immediate family in less than three years. Only his younger brother, Ethan, remained.
Jane had also lost her mother, and she’d never had any siblings, so she had no one now.
No one but me.
As he pressed his face to hers, he felt how chilled she was. Though the sun was shining, the day was bitterly cold, which seemed rather fitting, given what he’d just learned. Sweeping her up in his arms, he strode toward the cottage, kicking open the door and depositing her in the center of the small bed in the corner. Before she could protest, he tucked several rough woolen blankets around her.
“Stay there,” he murmured. “I’m going to start a fire.”
He turned away, busying himself at the fireplace for several minutes as he got a small fire burning in the hearth. His mind raced as he forced himself to acknowledge Jane’s new circumstances. She’d just turned eighteen, and they’d always been expected to marry. Now that her father was gone, he didn’t know what she’d do, where she’d go. He had a feeling that her father’s estate would be deeply in debt, given the fact that the man had a gambling problem and had been burning through his fortune for years now. The closest male relation, who was but a distant cousin, would inherit the estate, and Jane would be at his mercy.
The obvious solution would be to officially propose. Then, after her mourning period was over, they could wed, and he’d give her the protection of his wealth and name.
Panic surged through him. He loved Jane. She was his very best friend, and she’d helped him through his own father’s death. He wanted to marry her. Truly, he did. But he was only twenty. He’d just inherited an earldom. He wasn’t sure he was ready to take on yet another responsibility.
Sighing, he turned back to the bed and crawled beneath the blankets, pulling Jane into his arms. “I’m here,” he murmured, brushing a few strands of silky golden hair from her face. “I’m here for you, Jane.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, snuggling her face against his chest, her small body shivering uncontrollably. “I shouldn’t have run away from the house. But... I couldn’t bear to be there with him... when he was gone. And... I wanted you. I knew you’d come. I can always count on you.”
“Of course,” he assured her, her words making him feel even worse about the doubts churning within him. “I’ll always be here for you, Jane. Always.”
But her father’s death changed everything. Their relationship had always been a bit one-sided, with her being the one to give him comfort as he tried to work through his own grief and his anger at his brother Ethan, who he sometimes blamed for it all. Could he help her the way she’d helped him?
Even now, he knew he shouldn’t be here like this with her. It went against everything society deemed proper. If they were caught alone together, despite the extenuating circumstances, her reputation would be ruined, and he’d be forced to marry her.
Why was that idea suddenly so terrifying?
Perhaps, deep down, he knew that he didn’t deserve her. She was too good for him, too sweet and perfect to be forever saddled with his darkness. He should let her go to London, have a Season, find someone who would be better suited to her.
His arms tightened around her at the very thought. Even if he didn’t deserve her, she was his. It would kill him to see her with someone else.
For half an hour more, he held her, whispering inane platitudes and gently rubbing her slim back in an effort to soothe her pain. At last, her sobs subsided, and she lay passively in his embrace, completely hollowed out by the depth of her sorrow.
“I should go back,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and raw. “There’s so much that needs to be done.”
