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Chapter 1
Deptford docks, London. December 1816.
Deathbed promises were theworst.
Christopher ‘Kit’ Carlisle tightened his fingers around the silver locket in his hand. The trinket, with its delicate scrolls and tiny ferns, had been the only thing of beauty in his filthy prison cell.
The chain was long gone, used as a bribe for one of the guards, but Kit would guard the locket with his life, just as he’d promised.
His old friend’s last plea echoed in his ears.
“Give this to m’sister.” Andrew’s voice had been scarcely more than a whisper as he’d pressed the locket into Kit’s hand with the last glimmer of his strength. He’d kept it hidden for their entire incarceration, a reminder of another, happier life.
“Take care of her for me, won’t you? Tell her what happened?”
“I will. I swear.”
They’d both known Andrew wouldn’t live to complete the task himself. He’d succumbed to his wounds the following night, slipping away from the squalor of the cell where they’d both been held as undocumented prisoners of war, courtesy of Bonaparte.
Kit shook his head, dislodging the painful memory. That had been almost eighteen months ago, and unlike Andrew, he’d survived. Raven, his friend and fellow agent, better known to thetonas Lord William Ravenswood, had pulled off a daring rescue just as Kit himself had been knocking at death’s door.
His recovery had taken months. He’d lost so much weight he’d looked like a walking skeleton, and he’d been haunted by memories of his incarceration, racked with guilt that he’d survived to return to England while Andrew had been buried in a dusty, unmarked grave in Northern Spain.
Kit swallowed down a ball of gratitude for his brothers-in-arms. Raven, Nic, and Richard had refused to let him retreat into darkness and self-pity. They’d employed a relentless combination of bullying and kindness to help him recover.
Nic—ever the Frenchman—had engaged one of the best chefs in London to create delicious meals to tempt his appetite. Richard had trained with him daily. First with gentle exercises, and then with more strenuous fencing and boxing, tirelessly repeating the same moves over and over to rebuild his wasted muscles. Raven had regaled him with a constant stream of gossip, keeping him abreast of all that was happening in society, even while they were holed up in the splendid isolation of Kit’s country estate, Ashford Court, near Bath.
The carriage gave a sudden jolt and Kit blinked at the hustle and bustle of London’s Deptford dockyards beyond the window. His reflection stared back at him; he barely recognized himself now that he was well again. His skin had lost its unnatural pallor. He was tanned and healthy, stronger than ever, and ready—albeit reluctantly—to rejoin polite society.
Today’s errand was the final step in his rehabilitation. He’d been physically capable of keeping his promise to Andrew six months ago, but the woman for whom this locket was intended, Andrew’s sister, hadn’t been in the country.
Lady Emma Townsend.Kit hadn’t seen her for over three years, but she’d never been far from his mind.
She’d finally returned from her most recent expedition to South America. Her ship—not merely the vessel she’d sailed in on, but hers in the literal sense that she owned the thing outright—had docked here, at Deptford, last night.
Hence Kit’s presence this morning. He would find Emma, give her the locket, and leave, free of the burden of responsibility that had plagued him for the past year and a half.
The sight of the ships beyond the carriage window caused a familiar, yet unexpected yearning in his chest. A yearning for adventure, for new horizons. After the horrors of Spain he’d never thought he’d want to leave England again, but perhaps the return of his urge to travel wasn’t so strange. He’d been stuck inside for the first six months of his convalescence, after all, and for the past year he’d barely seen anyone save his three friends and their wives.
It was definitely time to rejoin the world.
A flurry of sleet swirled past the window and Kit took a deep breath, relishing the crisp bite of cold air in his lungs, so different from the dry, dusty heat of Spain. It was less than a week until Christmas. He disliked crowds, but he would force himself to attend a few of the endless parties here in town, and then he could retreat to Ashford Court and relish the peace and solitude once more.
But first, the locket. And Emma.
His stomach knotted in mingled anticipation and dread of seeing her again. He’d changed so much from the boy she’d once known. Would she even recognize him after all this time?
Chapter 2
“Don’t you dare die on me!”
Emma Townsend thrust an accusing finger at the wilting orchid in front of her.
The plant—unsurprisingly—made no response.
“I didnotspend countless hours coddling you across the Atlantic to have you give up the ghost as soon as we reached England,” she scolded. “Now buck up.”
Her spirits, already low, ebbed some more. She’d had such high hopes when she’d left Brazil, but so few of her precious specimens had survived. Captain Horner had kindly allowed her to use the chart room to house her plants, since it received the most light, but the poor things were still flagging badly.
