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Prologue
Paris, France
May 1896
Someone’s staring at me.
Inspector Quinn O’Brien of the London Metropolitan Police paused while questioning the front desk clerk—which had been difficult given his limited French—and turned abruptly to look behind him.
A young woman stood on the other side of the Parisian hotel lobby, and Quinn immediately knew she’d been the one staring because she did not drop her gaze when he turned. Instead, she lifted her chin a fraction of an inch and met his stare head-on. Evidence of dried tears streaked her pale cheeks, though she was not crying now.
Her blond hair was pulled back in a simple chignon, and her blue eyes sparked defiantly. Everything about her screamed wealth and good breeding, from the diamonds that sparkled at her throat to the tips of her white gloves. She was definitely the woman whose picture he’d memorized before he’d crossed the Channel to find her—Lady Allison Croft, the younger half-sister of the Earl of Hawkesmere.
He approached her cautiously, but she did not seem intent on escaping him. Hawkesmere had been convinced she’d been kidnapped by her other half-brother, Roger Croft, the Earl of Winters, but during his investigation, Quinn had learned that she’d gone with Winters of her own accord.
“Lady Allison,” he greeted her. “I’m Inspector Quinn O’Brien of the London Metropolitan Police Force.”
She frowned, seeming unsurprised by his identity or that he knew who she was. “Did my brother Lucien send you to find me?”
He nodded. “I’ve also come to take Roger Croft into custody.”
“Roger did not kidnap me!” she asserted immediately. “I came with him willingly. He’s my brother too, you know!”
Lady Allison’s mother had been the Countess of Hawkesmere, giving birth to three sons before her husband had died in a house fire, leaving Lucien Strathmore as the new earl when he was but a boy of fifteen. The countess had almost immediately married the Earl of Winters, who’d had a grown son of his own, and Lady Allison had been the product of that union. The stepbrothers were sworn enemies, and this girl seemed to be caught in the middle of a dangerous game between her powerful siblings.
Quinn didn’t care about any of that. All he cared about was bringing the Earl of Winters back to London to stand trial.
“It isn’t about that,” Quinn said grimly. “The Earl of Winters is wanted for murder.”
“Murder?” The girl’s composure slipped a bit. “You must be mistaken. Roger would never hurt anybody.”
“I’m afraid you’re the one who is mistaken. We have a credible witness that he did indeed cause the death of an innocent woman.”
“Who?” Lady Allison insisted, her voice cracking and reminding Quinn that she was just a girl of seventeen despite her regal bearing.
He sighed, hating that he had to be the bearer of bad news. “Your sister-in-law, Anne Strathmore.”
Lady Allison sucked in a breath, her face paling. “Not Anne,” she whispered. “Roger would never.” But doubt had entered her voice, and she cast a glance toward the stairs.
“Is he up there?” Quinn demanded. “You must tell me where he is. He’ll have his day in court. If he’s innocent, he’ll be able to prove it then.”
“He left,” she said, trembling with sudden emotion. “He came running into our room about ten minutes ago, told me someone had come to take me back to London and that I’d best go with you. Then he gathered up his things and left me behind.”
“What room were you in?” he demanded, realizing that Winters was getting away at this very minute.
“Room three, but I told you, he’s gone!” she cried, her voice breaking. “He left me here without any money, dependent on a stranger to get home!”
Ten minutes. While he’d been questioning the desk clerk, that bastard had been escaping. Frustration surged through him.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” he instructed, determined to continue his pursuit, even though he feared it was futile.
***
ALLISON WATCHED THE inspector rush out of the lobby in pursuit of her eldest brother and gave in to her tears completely, sinking into a chair and burying her face in her hands. Sobs wracked her body as she grieved for the loss of her sister-in-law, Anne.
When Roger had insisted she come to France with him, she’d hoped it would be an adventure. She’d never been to Paris, and she’d thought he’d take her site-seeing to all the treasures the great city had to offer. Instead, they had been holed up in this hotel room for weeks while he drank and paced, growing ever more paranoid and muttering horrible things beneath his breath.
She’d slowly grown to realize that he’d done something awful. But murder? Of Anne, no less? Why would he hurt Anne? She was the sweetest person Allison had ever known. And what about the children? Allison’s niece and nephew would be left motherless, and what about the child Anne had been carrying? Had the baby been lost too?
Dear God, her brother Morgan must be devastated!
Earlier this afternoon, when Roger had told her he was leaving, she’d been terrified. He’d taken everything with him, refusing to even leave her any money, saying he’d need it all to start a new life. She’d stood at the back of the lobby for several minutes staring at the handsome young inspector before she’d found the courage to approach him. But what had Roger—or Lucien, for that matter—been thinking? If she traveled back across the Channel alone with this man, she’d be ruined.
Suddenly realizing that her behavior was most certainly calling attention to herself this very minute, she struggled to control her emotions. If her mother could see her right now, she’d be so embarrassed. No one could control their emotions like the Countess of Winters. She was just as icy as her name implied.
With a shuddering sigh, Allison lifted her head, only to see the golden-haired young inspector striding toward her, a scowl on his handsome face. “There’s no sign of him,” he said, which was precisely what she’d told him.
She bit her lip and pushed to her feet, assuming her most imperious expression. “Have someone pack my things, Inspector. I wish to return to London immediately.”
He shook his head, the hint of a smile gracing his lips and his green eyes glinting with sudden humor. “Oh, no, princess. That’s not how this works. I’m not your servant. Pack your own bags.”
