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Chapter 1
It was the first rule of friendship among gentlemen: Never, ever lay a hand on your best friend’s sister.
Don’t do it. Don’t eventhinkabout it.
Not. One. Finger.
Sebastian Ives, Lord Byrne, had never been one for following rules. But promises? He took those seriously indeed. His friendship with Henry Clayton had been the anchor in his turbulent youth, too valuable to risk. So he’d made a vow to himself, and he’d steadfastly held to it—as best he could, anyhow—for years.
Eleven years.
Elevenlongyears.
More thanfour thousand daysof wrestling the temptation to take Mary Clayton in his arms and…
Well, from there the specifics varied.
Suffice it to say, aside from the casual contact necessitated by social convention, he’d never touched her—with one exception. After Henry’s funeral, he’d held her for hours as she wept. That didn’t count, surely.
But today, Sebastian found himself tempted to break his promise. No, “break” was too weak a word. He wanted to bundle his principles, snap them in two, and grind them to sand beneath his boot.
Damn, she looked lovely in her wedding gown.
Not only lovely, but inexplicably alone.
“Where the devil is your groom?”
“I’m not certain,” she said.
He paced the floor of the chapel’s tiny annex, averting his gaze from the slope of her neck and the gentle curl of auburn hair that adorned it. “How dare he keep you waiting, the bastard.”
“Mr. Perry’s not a bastard. He’s the legitimate son of a barrister.”
“I don’t care if he’s the Prince of Wales. The man made a promise to you, and he’s not here to keep it. That makes him a bastard. A tardy bastard, at that.”
“He isn’t late, Sebastian.” She paused. “He’s not coming.”
“Impossible.”
“It’s quite possible. In fact, it’s evident. He’s not here, and neither is his family.” She released her breath in a defeated sigh. “He must have changed his mind at the last moment.”
“Changed hismind?What sort of idiotic milksop would change his mind about marrying you?”
“One who wanted a different sort of wife, I suppose. Someone less opinionated, more amenable. You of all people know I can be difficult.”
Difficult? When it came to Mary, his only difficulty had been keeping his distance.
He supposed he could see why a weaker man might find her intimidating. She’d always been more clever than Sebastian and Henry put together. She was strong and self-reliant, because losing her mother at a young age had given her no other choice.
And she was passionate. If she believed in something, she would argue her case with everything she had, and never back down. She believed that women should have the vote, that prisoners should have better rations, that war widows should have pensions.
And that sons of violent drunkards should never spend Christmas alone.
Any man who’d let her go was a bloody fool.
“It’s done,” she said. “I’ll have to find the curate and tell him the wedding has been called off.”
“Oh no, you won’t. I’m going to go out and find that blackguard and drag him here.”
