All these questions and more swirled in Leonora’s head—All day! Every day!—and deep down, she knew the answer.
Had known it since the night of the masquerade.
The night she had wandered away from the ballroom, curious to observe those around her. Never had Leonora’s observations guided her toward something dangerous, and she had not expected what had happened then. She had ventured deeper into the darkened maze of corridors and alcoves, and then—
Her hands still balled into fists at the thought of how he had come upon her. She could still feel his hands upon her, his breath upon her skin, his mouth upon hers, silencing any objection she had voiced.
Eventually, Leonora had managed to free herself and gotten away before anything more could have happened. Still, it had not been soon enough.
The damage had been done…
…and it seemed irreversible.
Yet, lately, Leonora could not help but wonder if there were others. Other women who had experienced the same hell she had. Of course, like her, they could not speak of it for fear of repercussions. After all, society was merciless when it came to a woman’s reputation.
Did no one care?
Close to dawn that very night, Drake Shaw, Marquess of Pemberton, stood in a small clearing in Hyde Park, surrounded by tall-standing trees. His gaze was trained straight ahead, his arms at his sides, one hand holding a pistol, the muzzle pointed upward. He took a step forward, and then another, and another, his strides large and calm. He felt his heart beating in his chest, wondering if indeed it knew any other rhythm but this steady thump he felt against his rib cage. Indeed, he might well die tonight, and yet, not even that seemed to be reason enough for his heart to quicken its pace.
Mist lingered upon the ground this early in the morning, and the faint light slowly illuminating the sky touched upon a dew-covered world. An owl hooted in the distance, a last call before it would seek out its nest. The aroma of wet dirt under his boots drifted to Drake’s nostrils, and he welcomed the coolness lingering upon his forehead. Indeed, he felt quite at ease or would have if it were not for the man, he had come here to kill this morning.
Another three steps carried him across the clearing before Drake stopped, his hand steady, and then turned to face Lord Crawford.
In the dim light, Drake could no longer make out the other man’s features. He no longer saw that self-righteous gleam in his eyes, the hard set of his mouth and the complete disregard for all he had done upon his face. All Drake did see in that moment was a lone figure standing there, his arm extending as he brought the pistol forward, aiming it at Drake.
Drake, too, was taking aim, not rushing, but instead taking his time to—
Bang!
A shot rang out, a deafening sound in the still morning air, and Drake felt a sharp pain pierce his left forearm. The force of the bullet jerked his shoulder backwards, and his brain registered pain. Yet, it did not signify. It did not matter.
Inhaling a deep breath, Drake steadied his nerves, one eye closed, helping him adjust his aim. Dimly, he noticed the figure on the opposite end of the clearing flinch and imagined Lord Crawford’s eyes filling with utter panic and fear. The thought brought a smile to Drake’s face for it seemed appropriate that the man ought to at least feel the same terror he had caused others in the last moments of his life.
Drake’s finger tightened upon the trigger. His chest rose and fell with one final breath, his hand steady as a rock.
Bang!
Another deafening shot rang through the clearing, and at its opposite end, Lord Crawford crumbled to the ground.
Dropping the dueling pistol where he stood, Drake cast one last hateful glare at the man who now lay dead or dying upon the ground, his pale-faced second by his side, and then turned and walked away.
The sun rose swiftly now that another evil had been taken from this world, and Drake felt his chest rise and fall with more ease. The pain in his arm still lingered, but he did not mind it for it only served as a reminder of what he had achieved that night. Nevertheless, Drake knew that far more predators remained, their twisted minds and evil souls hidden behind charming smiles and protected by laws that did not serve to uphold justice.
This duel had not been Drake’s first, and it would not be his last. He would continue to walk among the ton, eyes and ears wide open, searching for others, wives trapped in a marriage with a monster, unable to protect themselves.
As Drake pulled himself back into the saddle, he momentarily closed his eyes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he remembered the day that had made him the man he was.
Blood had been everywhere, the knife she had used still in her hand. Her eyes had been closed, the look upon her face was one Drake would never forget. In fact, she had seemed peaceful, unburdened, free. Never had Drake seen her like that before, and in that moment, Drake had realized that he had never truly known her. He had walked the world blind, unaware of the horrors she had faced on a daily basis.
Now, he knew. Yet, he had been too late. The realization had come to him far too late.
He would not be too late again. He would do what he had to do in order to prevent the same tragedy from happening again.
One by one, he would rid the world of these men. He would do it for her.
If only he had known when that knowledge could still have made a difference to her.
If only.
Chapter One
A First Step
Whickerton Grove, December 1802 (or a variation thereof)
Later that same year
Always had Leonora felt at peace at their family estate far out in the country. Especially in winter, she loved the house and the grounds, snow everywhere. She loved the soft crunch under her boots as she walked through the gardens, white wherever she looked, the sun glistening upon the ice on the trees and roofs. It seemed magical somehow, otherworldly, and every once in a while, Leonora experienced a moment like those she had known long ago.
And yet, not much time had passed, had it? Not a year had passed since the night that had changed everything.
Leonora’s gaze swept over her surroundings, touching upon all the sights that had once brought her joy. Now, however, that joy no longer felt true and unrestrained. Now, there was something dark lingering upon it, something Leonora could not explain, something she could not put into words. Unfortunately, as much as she had tried to forget, her mind still conjured the night at the masquerade whenever it chose. She had no control over it. Images or sounds would pop into her mind without warning. Once again, she would feel hands upon her, rough and demanding. She could not help but cringe at the memory, cursing herself for allowing something that was far from tangible to hold such power over her. After all, almost a year had passed! Should that not have been sufficient time to master these lingering emotions?
“You cannot stay behind on your own,” Louisa stated rather vehemently, her blonde curls all but hidden in the fur-lined hood she had drawn upon her head. “Everyone is going. You will be utterly bored. Also, people might talk if you remained here all by yourself.”
Leonora knew that Louisa meant well. Still, her sister’s words cut deep. Leonora knew that she ought to move on—had she not promised herself that very thing? Nevertheless, it seemed that she did not possess the strength or perhaps the determination to do so. “I know,” Leonora mumbled, watching the cloud of her breath drift away on the icy breeze. If only she could follow it. “What am I to do?” She turned to look at her sister, one of only a few people in this world who knew most what had happened that night. “I cannot imagine attending and…and…and…”