Chapter One
Norfolk, England, 1819
When I saw the opportunity for escape, I took it.
Members of the dinner party made their way to the drawing room, but I edged away from the crowd, heading in the opposite direction. With a backward glance, I turned the corner into a dimly lit hallway, hoping no one had seen me break away. The voices grew fainter. Leaning against the wall, I felt the intricate wood molding dig into my back. I debated risking a peek around the corner.
“Juliet?” Aunt Agnes’s shrill voice sounded.
Fearful she had seen me retreat, I hurried forward. This hallway would offer me little protection if she suspected my intentions. A plush rug ran the length of the corridor, muting my footsteps as I tiptoed down the hall. Nothing looked familiar from the tour we’d received upon our arrival earlier today, and I scolded myself for not paying closer attention.
To my left a door rested slightly ajar. I pushed it open and slipped inside. The library. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it with a sigh. Escaping Aunt Agnes’s watchful eye for even a few moments was a great relief.
The library was dark, save for the flickering light of the fire, whose flames danced across the room’s shelves. The cavernous ceiling stretched beyond my view, enshrouded in an inky blackness. I shivered against the chill of the large room, where the faint smell of pipe smoke lingered in the air. Drawing near the fireplace, I missed the quaint library at home—my own personal retreat. It served as a sanctuary from Aunt Agnes’s demands and, more recently, cousin Robert’s unsolicited professions of love.
My head ached with the tedium of conversation at tonight’s dinner and the multitude of pins sticking into my scalp. I removed my gloves and pulled the pins out one by one, letting my hair fall down my back. The sting eased, and my hand skimmed over the mantel as the fire warmed me.
When had Robert’s feelings changed? Robert had ever been my ally, my best friend, the one person who truly understood me. Until, all at once, he completely misunderstood me. He had ruined everything between us, for I could never see him as anything but a brother. My palms began to sweat just thinking of it.
I shivered, wishing for the warmth of a cup of chocolate. Ever since that day of Robert’s confession, there’d been a sense of aloneness, a chill inside me—one the fire couldn’t reach. I idly fingered a small porcelain figurine, a slender woman holding a fan, atop the mantel. One of my knuckles brushed against it a bit carelessly, and the figurine slipped and crashed to the floor.
On my knees in an instant, I began picking up pieces, though the matter was hopeless. “Oh dear.” I blew out a heavy breath.
“As if those words could replace a gift given to my great-grandmother on her wedding day,” a deep voice with a hardened edge said.
I whirled around, my lungs tight. I’d thought myself alone all this time. “Who’s there?” I searched the shadowed darkness but found nothing. The creak of a chair alerted me to someone in the corner, far from the light of the fire. I could just make out the form of a man occupying the chair.
“Do you make a habit of touching other people’s things?” he asked, ignoring my question.
“I-I am sorry, sir.” I stood and placed the broken pieces on the mantel, then turned back to the shadows. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you are,” I stammered, heart pounding. Could he be another guest? I cursed my propensity for making terrible first impressions.
“I asked you a question.” The voice was unyielding, and I had a difficult time trying to imagine its owner.
“Well, I . . . not usually,” I said finally, feeling like a small girl receiving a rebuke.
“So I am just especially unfortunate, then.”
“I suppose.” I lifted my chin. “And now that I have answered your question, might you answer mine?” I took a step toward him, hoping to get a better view. “I would like to know whom I am speaking with.”
“Stay where you are,” he commanded. “You’ve intruded enough.”
“Sir?” I took another step. Perhaps if we could talk, I might somehow repair the damage of a ruined first impression.
“Don’t come near me,” he snarled, and I froze, the chill in his voice making the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. “I’ve never met a woman with such ill-bred manners.”
“Do you presume to know me after only three minutes?” I asked, offended in the face of his abuse. “What kind of gentleman sits in the shadows as he insults a lady?”
He laughed a joyless laugh, full of irony. “A lady, are you? One who sneaks off to the library when you should be down in the drawing room, displaying your musical talents?”
His words miffed me. “As I have none to share, I am sure I won’t be missed.” I inwardly scolded myself for speaking so openly; he had no right to know how much I hated performing before others. I did not want to share anything about myself with this uncouth man.
“I see.” Silence reigned for a moment. “Take a seat,” he commanded finally, his voice soft and dangerous.
“Well, I—”
“Sit,” he repeated, and I sat.
As I waited for him to lecture me on the loss of his beloved and broken heirloom, I studied his outline, trying to guess his age. He had a full head of dark hair; that much I could tell. He held a walking stick in his left hand, and there was something about the way he sat that made me think the cane might not be just for show.
The man laid the cane across his lap. “Once you have finished scrutinizing me, I’d be vastly interested to hear your opinion.”
“You can hardly blame me since you seem intent on remaining mysterious.” My words slipped out before I could stop them.
He turned his head sharply toward me. “My, my. For one so young, you do have quite a tongue.”
I raised my chin again. “I’m twenty. Not so young. It is not as though you are some fading old codger.”
“Did your study of me reveal my age, then?”
“Not precisely. But I’d put you somewhere under forty, if you wish to know.”
He sat forward, one side of his face lit by the fire. His was a severely handsome face with dark brows and a defined jaw. His lips were full, and one side of his mouth was tipped up in amusement. He was younger than I’d expected—perhaps only thirty.
His striking features set me off balance. I’d felt much more comfortable with him when he’d sat in the shadows as a faceless voice. Looking around, I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was in the library, alone, with a gentleman. “I’m not sure I should—”
One hand slid down his cane. “Ah, you fear for your reputation. You need not. For most people I have ceased to exist.”