Chapter 1
England, 1816
Austin Randolph Jamison, ninth Duke of Bradford, stood in
a shadowed alcove and surveyed his guests. Couples swirled
on the dance floor, a colorful rainbow of expensively
gowned and jeweled women escorted by perfectly turned out
gentlemen. Hundreds of beeswax candles twinkled in the
overhead chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the
festivities. Over two hundred of Society's elite had
gathered in his home, and he had only to reach out his
hand to touch any one of a dozen people.
He'd never felt so alone in his life.
Emerging from the shadows, he plucked a brandy from a
passing footman's silver tray and raised the snifter to
his lips.
"There you are, Bradford. Been looking for you everywhere."
Austin froze, smothering a vicious oath. He wasn't sure
who the speaker was, but it didn't matter. He knew why
whoever stood behind him had been looking for him, and his
stomach tightened into a knot. Well, there was no escaping
now. Tossing back half his brandy, he braced himself, then
turned around.
Lord Digby stood before him. "I just visited the gallery,
Bradford," Digby said. "The new portrait of William in his
military uniform is magnificent. A fitting tribute." His
round face collapsed into a frown and he shook his
head. "Deuced tragedy, passing on during his final
mission."
Austin forced himself to nod politely. "I agree."
"Still, it's an honor to die a war hero."
Pressure built in Austin's chest. War hero. If only that
were true. But the letter locked in his desk drawer
confirmed his suspicions that it was not.
A vivid picture of William flashed through his mindโthat
last gut-wrenchingimage that nothing could erase. Guilt
and regret slammed into him, and his fist tightened around
his brandy snifter.
Air. He desperately needed air to clear his mind. Excusing
himself, he headed toward the French windows.
Caroline caught sight of him and smiled, and he forced
himself to smile at his sister in response. As much as he
dreaded social functions, he was pleased to see Caroline
looking so happy. It had been too long since that gleam of
carefree joy had lit her lovely face, and if hosting this
damn ball was what was necessary to make her happy, then
host it he would. Still, he wished Robert were here
instead of traveling on the Continent. His jovial younger
brother was much more at ease in the role of host.
Ignoring the curious gazes cast in his direction, Austin
exited the ballroom and made his way to the gardens.
Neither the sweet fragrant roses scenting the warm summer
air nor the full moon casting a silvery luster over the
landscape improved his mood or relaxed the tension
clenching his muscles. Couples strolled together, talking
quietly, but Austin ignored them, determined to find a few
minutes of peace.
But even as he struck out along a well-manicured path, he
knew in his heart that peace was too much to ask for.
Would anyone guess the truth? No, he decided. Everyoneโ
Caroline, Robert, his mother, the entire bloody countryโ
all believed William died a hero, and it was an illusion
Austin would pay any price to maintain. Anything to keep
his family and his brother's memory safe from ruin.
He soon arrived at his destination, a private area
surrounded by tall hedges at the perimeter of the gardens.
The unoccupied curved stone bench was the most welcome
sight he'd beheld all evening. Sanctuary.
Heaving a sigh of relief, he sat on the bench and
stretched out his legs, ready to enjoy this peaceful
haven. He reached into his pocket to extract his gold
cigar case, but paused when he heard a rustling in the
hedges.
The bushes parted and a young woman attempted to scramble
through them. Panting and muttering under her breath, she
tried unsuccessfully to free herself from the branches
tearing at her hair and pulling at her gown.
Austin gritted his teeth and stifled an obscenity. He knew
it was pointless to pray for her to go away. His prayers
hadn't been answered very often lately.
The thrashing and muttering in the bushes continued. No
doubt some chit sneaking about to indulge in a clandestine
meeting with a lover. Or perhaps she was but yet another
senseless female in search of a title and hoping to trap
him into marriage. For all he knew, she might have
followed him into the garden. Frustration shot through him
and he arose to leave.
"Damnation!"
The exasperated cry exploded from the young woman's lips.
She tugged impatiently on her gown to free it from the
thicket, but it refused to budge. Grabbing her skirt with
both hands, she gave a mighty heave. The unmistakable
sound of fabric tearing cut the air.
Suddenly freed from the constraining hold of the bushes,
she pitched forward, landing facedown in the damp grass.
The air rushed from her lungs in a loud whoosh.
"Blasted ball gowns," she mumbled, shaking her head as if
to clear her vision. "They're going to be the absolute
death of me."
Austin clenched his hands. His first instinct was to
escape before she caught sight of him, but as she remained
lying there, motionless, he hesitated. Perhaps she was
injured. He couldn't very well leave the foolish baggage
here to rot, tempting though the idea was. If Caroline
were injured, he'd want someone to help herโnot that his
sister would ever find herself in such a ridiculous
situation.
Cursing his inability to simply walk away, he asked, "Are
you all right?"
She gasped and jerked her head up. Her gaze locked on his
black formal breeches for several seconds, then she
lowered her head back onto the grass. "Why, oh why did
someone have to see this?"
"Are you all right?" he repeated, fighting his growing
impatience.
"Yes, of course I am. My health has always been of a most
robust nature. Thank you for inquiring."
"May I offer you some assistance?"
"No, thank you. Pride demands I extricate myself from
this, my latest in an endless series of embarrassments."
She didn't move. A heavy pause filled the air.
"Are you going to get up?"
"No, I don't think I shall. But thank you again for
asking."
Austin clenched his teeth until his jaw ached, and he
wondered how much champagne the chit had swallowed. "Are
you foxed?"
She raised her head several inches. "I don't know. I
suppose it is possible. What does foxed mean?"
Her distinctive accent pierced through his annoyance.
Closing his eyes, he barely suppressed a groan. "American?"
"Oh, for the love of heaven! I swear if one more person
asks me thatโ" She broke off and glared at his
knees. "Obviously I'm American. Everyone knows that an
Englishwoman would never be caught dead sprawled on the
grass in such an undignified fashion. Heaven forbid."
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