by Reid, Stacy
Kitty sighed. “I never imagined such success with
my ruse. It is frightening.”
A wide smile lit her friend’s face and her eyes
glinted with mysterious allure. “But it is wonderful to
be so daring, yes?”
“I daresay it is. There are times I thrill in being so
positively wicked and bold. Only a couple days ago,
I rode your horse astride in Hyde Park. I declare I
am not the first lady to do so, but the scandal sheets
were agog with my daring, and Mamma almost
had the vapors.” She laughed, delighted with the
reminder of how indecent and free it had felt. “Kitty
Danvers must be very devilish to keep the interest of
the papers and society. I want them hungry to know
me, to be shocked by and attracted to my audacity.
Invitations to even the most exclusive balls and
events will come in more.”
“Then I declare that is where you should direct
your attention wholeheartedly, Kitty. I assure you,
if you let only the doubts and fear in, you will falter
and possibly miss something wonderful, and quite
different than the humdrum that can be the expected
life of a lady,” Ophelia said with aching sincerity.
Kitty had always thought that of all her friends,
Ophelia could have been married if she wished
for a union. She was terribly pretty with a small,
determined month, a button of a nose, and sweetly
curved lips, and she had the most beautifully
haunting singing voice Kitty had ever had the
privilege to hear. Despite being the daughter of
a marquess who was lauded in parliament for his
reforming efforts, for the last few seasons only one
man had made an offer for her—Peter Warwick, the
Earl of Langdon. And Olivia had rejected him, for
she had an artistic temperance and sensibility…and
a secret identity no one could ever discover.
She was Lady Starlight, revered and worshipped
as a masked and bewigged songbird.
“How glad I am we ran into each other,” Kitty
said with a light laugh, brushing aside all feelings
of misgiving. “I shall not falter in my thoughts
anymore.”
A faint shout had them pausing and turning
around. A man in a dark tweed coat hurried toward
them, a notebook clutched in his hand, a briefcase
dangling in the other. They shifted to the side of the
path to allow him to pass, but quite alarmingly, he
stopped in front of them. Kitty narrowed her eyes
and gripped her parasol, not in the least afraid to
slap him with it should he accost them.
Not that they had too much to worry about with
Ophelia’s footmen within shouting distance.
Intelligent brown eyes landed on them. “The
Honourable Katherine Danvers, I presume?” he
gasped out.
“And who is asking?”
“I’m Robert Dawson, a reporter from The Morning
Chronicles. I have some inquiries about your
engagement to His Grace, the Duke of Thornton.
May I be permitted a few questions, Miss Danvers?”
Mr. Dawson’s eyes were watchful, curious with a
hint of slyness.
Kitty glanced at Ophelia and saw the message
in her golden gaze. Be daring. Be bold. And be more
wicked.
So she did.
Chapter Three
Perthshire, Scotland, McMullen Castle
“I hope I am not overstepping, Your Grace, when I
offer my sincerest felicitations on your upcoming
nuptials.”
Those murmured words from Thomas Biddleton,
Alexander Masters’s most trusted steward, arrested
him as nothing had ever done. Well, except for the
sight of his sister chasing a pig through the woods
only a week ago, screaming for it to run and be free.
The pig had been recaptured later that day, but he
knew better than to tell her so.
The memory pulled a ghost of a smile to his lips,
and the other men gathered in his study shared a
speaking glance. Except he did not understand its
language. Did they ponder the nature of his smile
or the beastly mien that must have been highlighted
in stark silhouette with that small movement of his
lips?
As it were, the taut skin marring his left cheek
down to his neck ached at the movement. There
had been little reason to exercise those scarred
muscles of late. Even his sister’s wild antics rarely
managed to bring levity to his heart, when before
a simple hug from her had made him feel whole.
The echoing emptiness had become somewhat of
an enigma to Alexander, for he did not perceive its
purpose. He’d long accepted his fate and no longer
roared his anguish at his misfortunes, yet he was
also inexplicably aware of the heart of darkness that
lingered within him.
He was lonely.
The stark reality of it had been a crack in the belief
that all he needed was his sister, Penny. But he’d
decided to send her to England for the necessary
social polish and a season. She would not like it, but
he would not allow her to bury herself in the wild
moors of Scotland forever when the possibility of
happiness might await her.
“Please forgive my impertinence, Your Grace,”
the man hurriedly said at his lack of response.
Positioned in a high wingback chair by the fire,
Alexander swallowed the last of his brandy, schooling
his expression into impassivity. “My nuptials? To
whom?”
Startled owlish eyes cut into his, and Mr. Biddleton
seemed lost for words. “Miss Katherine Danvers,
I believe she prefers to be called Kitty…is she not
your betrothed? Everyone has said so.”
“Then it must be true,” Alexander said caustically,
dismissing yet another intrusive rumor into his life.
In the ten years since he had withdrawn from society,
he had heard it all—the exotic French mistress he
had to throw off a cliff, that he had perished in the
fall that had broken his body, then damn his black
heart, he had done away with his heir presumptive.
Those were the rumors that had reached him in his
cold corner of Scotland.
Mr. Biddleton’s furtive glance cut to the three
solicitors seated around a massive oak table. They
were meticulously packing up reports in the proper
order for his perusal later. From the stiff manner in
how they held themselves, he surmised they were
discomfited. Perhaps they dreaded the invitation for
dinner he would extend, as was his custom. They
were too afraid to refuse him, and they were aware
he knew their discomfiture.
Something ugly scuttled across his thoughts, a
black awareness that he was lonely and had only
these retainers resembling obsequious cockroaches
who sat without spine, bowing to all his whims
because he was the duke.
Mr. Pryce, a new addition to the law offices, an
d
who was aiming to leave his mark on the world,
cleared his throat. “I had the privilege of finding a
suitable town house for Miss Danvers when her late
father’s lawyer was unable to do so, Your Grace.
Miss Danvers was quite pleased with the house in
Portman Square.”
Alexander was momentarily transfixed. A member
of his team had seen and spoken to this creature?
Then a peculiar stillness settled over his mind. It
seemed this was more than gossip crafted from the
silver tongues of boredom and spiteful pettiness.
It was quite astonishing. He took a few minutes to
assess the strangeness of not having his mind darting
in several directions, calculating profits, or penning
some inflammatory letter to Britain’s parliament.
“Was she?” he murmured in a deliberately disinterested
tone.
The pup, evidently eager to please, and dismissing
the cautioning look from his superiors, hurried
to extrapolate. “Miss Danvers has been declared
incomparable, Your Grace, and the story of your
courtship is splashed in every newspaper and scandal
sheet. They do admire her for her charm and kindness.
The story of your meeting and secret courtship
has become a sensation. You…you’ve become the
rage…”
Mr. Pryce’s voice left him as he became aware of
the heavy disapproval beating down on him from his
two senior lawyers.
None of that mattered to Alexander, as for the
first time in years, a pulse of raw, vibrant emotion
stirred beneath the controlled surface he presented
to the world. A young lady had deliberately claimed
to be his fiancée; she had either been struck with
madness or ingenuity.
He felt an unfamiliar twist of curiosity.
He turned the crystal brandy glass slowly
between his hands, absently tracing the puckered
scars dissecting his thumb. “This meeting is over, and
I will see you all next month.”
Mr. Pryce and his senior lawyers stood, bowed,
and made their way from the study.
“Not you.”
Somehow sensing that it was he, the young buck
faltered. “M-me, Your Grace?”
“Yes.”
Everyone else shuffled out, the last one closing
the door to the study quietly.
“Tell me, Mr.…”
“Adolphus Richard Pryce, Your Grace,” the young
man hurriedly answered.
Alexander could feel his uncertainty and did
nothing to put him at ease. “You’ve personally met
Miss Danvers.”
The man hurriedly explained how he had found
the town house for her and had tried to open a line
of credit with the best dressmakers and milliners, but
she had refused.
How interesting. A charlatan who was not interested
in his money? Who are you and what do you
want?
The lawyer’s voice droned on in his eagerness to
please. Certain phrases caught at the sharp edges of
Alexander’s mind; others he dismissed as he stared
into the flickering flames. The scarred half of his face
throbbed, as it always did whenever he looked upon
the force of nature that had caused his greatest pain.
The ton is fascinated…
Everyone is amazed at how indulgent you are…
It is a love match…
A winter wedding…
A duchess at last…
It was simply too outrageous to be believed.
“I task you to ensure that every newssheet that
has mentioned Miss Danvers is delivered to me immediately,
and all that mention her moving forward
should be sent to me posthaste with no expenses
spared.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Pryce murmured, pleasure
rich in his tone. “I am happy to serve.”
“You are dismissed.”
The man bowed, a spring in his step as he made
his departure.
Silence once more blanketed the massive study
like a shroud. He stood, gripping the head of his
cane, absorbing the pain winding across his back.
The doctors recommended he try to operate without
his wheeled chair for at least an hour each day.
Alexander had ignored them, and no less than three
hours was spent on his legs every day, despite the
agonizing discomfort.
He made his way along the hallway, which was
redolent with the scent of lemon wax and flowers.
The large hall echoed with memories of a life long
forgotten, a time when his sister had shrieked
without decorum as she ran down these hallways, the
servants smiling at the unlikely picture of his mother,
a duchess, chasing her child. His sister’s presence
had never allowed him the luxury of being overly
maudlin.
She’d needed him more than he’d needed darkness
to hide away in.
Each step jarred him, the pain at times making
his steps falter. But he did not call for his bath chair
or his manservant. He made his way down the
winding stairs, past the drawing room and the grand
ballroom, to a private room that had been designed
solely for his use. Gripping the handle, he opened
the door and entered the only paradise he allowed
himself—his library.
A room where shelved walls of books and scrolls
and stone tablets rose in three stories of splendor.
It was decorated in antique gold and blue, with six
soaring windows facing the rolling expanse of the
green castle grounds. It was a room fit for a pasha,
overflowing with antiques and unique items he had
collected before his accident.
There had always been a deep-seated need
inside him to study human culture and the different
civilizations. He had toured the continents, locating
precious gems and stones, revered scrolls, miniature
sphinxes and statues of exotic animals, rare vases
from the Ming dynasty, and books; he had hoarded
them like a dragon protecting his lair of treasure.
During his recovery, he’d hired a team of
archaeologists, lawyers, and hunters of exceptional
and unique things, and each year something more
precious, more unique had been brought to him. He
felt as if he collected the great beauties and wonders
of the world, yet he had never been fulfilled. He
touched his latest acquisition: Emperor Kublai of the
Mongol Empire immortalized in the cold jade of the
statue.
It brought him no pleasure.
The void was not filled; there was no rioting
need to immerse himself in the rare books that accompanied
this and each acquisition. His mind did
not reach toward the abyss where he could submerge
himself in another exotic world and be free.
For his desire to collect suddenly burned with a
furious need to add another object to his growing
trove of treasure.
Miss Katherine “Kitty” Danvers.
But once they came behind these
massive oak
doors, his treasures did not leave. An unusual
interest pulsed through him at the notion of this
daring creature in his castle.
“Finally, your meeting is over!” a muffled voice
filled with annoyance exclaimed.
He smiled, moving farther into the grand library
and around a wall of bookcases to another open area
to see his sister sprawled indecorously on the dark
green oriental carpet, her peach day dress already
showing signs of smudges. She had been in one of his
crates.
“I surmise you have been waiting long?”
“At least two hours.” She shot him a quick smile,
her turquoise eyes filled with excitement. “Look
what has arrived, Alexander. A sacramental vessel
from the Temple of Seti. Isn’t it glorious? I believe
Mr. Cook has outdone himself with his latest acquisition.
There is a book of hieroglyphic—” Penny
pushed to her feet and fisted her hands on her slim
hips. “You seem out of sorts! Should I summon
Dr.—”
He waved aside her concern. “I’m quite well. I
simply got a bit of unexpected news.”
She shot him a birdlike look of inquiry. “Is it news
from the doctors?”
“No.”
Relief lit in her eyes. “Is it good or bad news?”
“It depends on your outlook on—”
“Please spare me any more philosophical lectures
and tell me,” she cried with endearing frankness.
Alexander chuckled, recalling their spirited debate
this morning as they had rowed on the frigid
loch waters. “It appears I am engaged.”
She gasped and sank into the well-padded
cushion of the sofa. “You are to be married?”
“So it seems,” he said with droll amusement.
“But how? I cannot credit it or perceive if I
should be delighted or pity the poor lady who will
have to withstand your eccentricities,” breathed Penny,
looking eagerly up at him.
He scowled.
“Though they are delightful ones,” she added
hurriedly with an impish grin. “But truly, how did
this happen?”
“As I understand it, it was announced in the
papers by Miss Kitty Danvers. I do admit, I have yet
to meet this lady.”
The import of his words reached his sister, and
she straightened. “Oh dear. I wonder what circumstances
would embolden someone to announce such
a falsehood? Are you considerably angry?”
Letting his finger trail over the cold marble statue
