Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
1 817
Dear Lord P,
As usual, your tip was impeccable. I cannot fathom how you knew Lord Hamsford would be amenable to changing his vote when he had been so steadfast in his denials, but your suggestion of showing Lady Hamsford the factories worked perfectly. Within the hour, she convinced him to change his mind. Now he is fully supportive of our measure regarding worker conditions. Though you have denied my request already, I ask again for you to emerge from the shadows, for what we can accomplish will be even greater.
Yours,
Bradenton
“It is so refreshing to see a lady who knows her place.”
Do not pick up the nearest vase.
“Serious matters are simply too much for gently-bred women.”
Do not clobber him over the head with said vase.
“Leave the important decisions to men, who are far better equipped to handle such matters.”
Do not start looking for another vase with which to clobber.
As if granted by the heavens above, the song ended, saving Lady Priscilla Livingston from the idiotic ramblings of the exalted earl and her hostess from the loss of a dozen priceless vases.
Only years of practice gave her the ability to maintain a serene expression. “Thank you for the dance, my lord. Your wisdom is always so…”
Preposterous. Absurd. So ridiculous a potted plant could best you in a game of wits.
“Enlightening,” she choked out. “And now there is my next dance partner, right behind the potted plant. I’m afraid I must dash.”
She turned before he had a chance to respond, a tad sharply yet not rude enough to blatantly insult. He was off the suitor list and onto the newly-created “I’m not nearly that desperate” list. Likely it would amass many, many suitors before the season’s end.
She adjusted her ivory dress. The silky gown floated around her, an ethereal masterpiece glittering with delicate beadwork and intricate lace. Matching jewels sparkled upon the complicated creation of curls into which her maid had pulled, yanked and otherwise punished her hair. She felt confident, able to conduct both of her tasks:
Finding an appropriate suitor and…
Investigating.
She walked to the refreshment table and took a drink, sipping quietly as she observed the guests. They laughed and danced and mingled, reveling in frivolity. For them, life held no meaning beyond such trivialities. For others…
“You’re being hunted.”
Priscilla jumped at the whisper in her ear. She turned, relaxed at the sight of Lady Hannah Breckenridge. “May I ask who is hunting me?”
Hannah’s gaze remained serious. She grasped Pricilla’s arm and led her to a nearby corner, which afforded a slight measure of privacy. “I’m not joking,” she hissed.
The inklings of unease churned in her stomach, yet Priscilla showed none of it. “I am certain you are mistaken. For what purpose would someone hunt me?”
“Someone has decided you would make a most eligible bride.”
Priscilla released a breath, stood taller. “I am the daughter of a duke, with a handsome dowry, a good family and quite proper behavior.” She smiled, lowered her voice. “The last may not be entirely true. I’ve had offers, but my father will not force me to–”
“It’s Bradenton.”
Priscilla froze. Tightened. Imagined the man who always got what he wanted.
An invisible cage rose on all sides.
“That’s right,” Hannah whispered. “The most powerful lord in the ton is interested in you.”
“Impossible,” Priscilla claimed, even as icy unease traced her spine. Keep control. Breathe. “Bradenton is not looking for a wife.”
Hannah shook her head. “I overheard his sisters.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“I am not. Do you know what will happen if he discovers your secrets?”
All too well. Her friend had no idea the extent of the secrets she kept. The sewing guild that had nothing to do with sewing. The secret quests she undertook. The cause for which she fought.
If the duke uncovered the truth…
“I’m sure I can stop it.” That was a lie. “It will be easy to convince him.” That was another lie.
“I hope you’re right,” Hannah breathed out. “Because if he finds out – our purpose – he could threaten everything.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Priscilla promised.
“It may be too late.”
Priscilla turned… and stared.
There was no exact word to describe the moment the Duke of Bradenton entered a room. A distinct murmuring arose, passed from lord to lady, servant to servant, matron to debutante. Conversations changed from rowdy banter to hushed whispers as all turned towards a single target.
With a massive body defined by muscle and strikingly handsome features of coal black hair and sapphire eyes, Bradenton commanded attention. He stood well above six feet, with a presence that far transcended his title, one of power, control and unforgiving dominance. He made men cower with a mere look, affected women far more. And her?
They meant far more to each other than he could ever imagine.
Bradenton garnered attention wherever he went. The matchmaking mamas ran to him, trailed by giggling wide-eyed debutantes. The dignified lords moved only slightly slower, nodding regally, even as they surrounded him. Young pups and ladies of all ages joined what rapidly became a crowd.
Acknowledging people with a subtle nod, he seemed to know everyone there, and everyone certainly wanted to know him. The group around him grew as people stood on the outskirts of the rapidly forming mass, watching him as if he was the sole performer on a theater stage. A powerful middle-aged duchess approached, cutting through the crowd with her two eligible daughters. She stopped directly in front of Bradenton, pulling her daughters on either side.
Priscilla was too far to hear the words exchanged, yet a ripple came through the crowd. Bradenton reached out…
And signed a dance card.
Then another.
And another.
She froze.
The duke was indeed searching for a wife.
Something flashed through her, an emotion she couldn’t even name, before she forced it aside. It was inconsequential if Bradenton was looking for a bride. No doubt he’d control every aspect of the wife he would legally own, not allowing her to interfere with his activities or manage her own.
It wouldn’t change their relationship.
She needed to turn away before someone noticed her perusal. Of course that wasn’t a substantial concern when half the ladies were watching him, and the other half endeavoring to throw their dance cards at him. Yet through it all, she stood frozen. Her heart skipped a beat, then thumped, as she sucked in a breath. The once cool room seemed hot as the summer sun. Then… he looked up.
Their eyes locked.
The musicians finished the song, and suddenly the moment was broken. She heaved in a breath of air fragrant with dozens of cloying perfumes, from people in excited conversations about the duke. She swallowed the feeling of suffocation, glanced back to where he was holding court.
Only he wasn’t there.
She turned around. Taller than most, he wasn’t hard to spot. He was no longer stationary, but moving straight towards her!
By instinct she took a step, yet a second later, she forced herself to stop. She would not let him chase her down like some small animal. She looked straight at him, raised an eyebrow and turned her head away.
It was a clear dismissal. She never would’ve dared from close up, not when it would have left tongues wagging all over London. But they were far enough no one but the two of them would notice.
She dared a look back. His eyes were narrowed, his gait slower. Yet even as he stopped, he looked no less determined. He turned.
Then pivoted directly towards her mother.
Priscilla silently recited every oath a lady should never know. Then did so again as Bradenton engaged her mother in conversation, as her mother’s already ruddy cheeks turned even pinker with delight. Bradenton gestured towards her as her mother nodded eagerly.
This. Was. Not. Good.
Then suddenly they were in motion, walking towards her once more. Priscilla glanced around, searching for a means of escape. She was not running, merely making a strategic exit. It was crazy, of course, hiding from the most eligible lord in the ton , but Bradenton was everything she couldn’t have in a match. Powerful. Authoritative. Domineering.
Her greatest secret.
She edged closer to a potted plant, a clearly useless exercise. Bradenton’s tall stride ate up the ground, as he greeted but did not stop for the many people approaching him. Her mother’s eager gait made up the distance her much shorter legs lost.
Then he was right in front of her.
A broad chest. Muscular arms. A tall, powerful body.
Perhaps if she had a conversation with his chest, there would be less chance of him reading the truth in his eyes.
“Priscilla, look up,” her mother hissed, her tone a dizzying concoction of excitement, elation and exasperation. “You remember Bradenton.”
She was being ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly know the truth.
“It is a pleasure to see you again,” he spoke, when it became clear she would not.
“The pleasure is mine, Your Grace.”
“Is it?” He said it low enough to be out of earshot of her mother, who had edged back to provide them with a measure of intimacy. His lips quirked up at the sides.
Her mother, clearly sensing that things were not progressing as she’d hoped – since they were not yet betrothed, wedded and expecting her first grandchild – skirted forward. “The duke told me some exciting news. He is hunting for a duchess.”
Priscilla cringed. Only her mother, a duchess herself, could speak so unsubtly without reproof. She forced a smile to her face. “I wish you success, Your Grace. I suspect it will not be a difficult endeavor.”
“You flatter me.” His voice was as smooth as finely aged wine. “And exaggerate.”
They both knew she didn’t. He had his choice of ladies, some of whom made an art out swooning into his arms. Forty-three had already done so this season.
Not that she noticed.
“Your mother said you are enjoying your season.”
“Of course.” It was far easier to investigate the lords who voted against her causes, gathering information that would change lives. Yet he mustn’t know that. Every moment in his presence brought danger, only what would discourage him? Perhaps, she could be a little too excited. “I just love the season! Who wouldn’t enjoy all the shopping? I always say, you never can have too many gowns. I’d spend all day at the modiste if I could. Oh wait, I do.” She giggled merrily, looking at him from under hooded eyelids.
Her mother gave her the same look as when she’d been caught with fourteen of Cook’s tarts hidden in her dress.
“Is that so?” he drawled.
She hesitated, then nodded.
“You are far from alone in that passion,” he said graciously. “My sister regales me daily with tales of the latest fashions from Paris. Tell me, what is your favorite new style?”
New style? Despite her words, she spent as little time at the modiste as possible, usually only going when her mother commanded, begged or bribed (usually all three). She had no idea of the styles, old, new or otherwise.
But she had to say something. Her mind raced. “Sleeves!”
Um, what did she just say?
His lips twitched. “Sleeves?”
“Yes, exactly. The new sleeves are very fashionable. And the skirts. You know I wouldn’t be surprised if hoop skirts came back.”
The duchess choked. “My daughter is very accomplished,” she blurted out. “She excels in all the skills of a lady. She is talented with a needle, speaks three languages and sings beautifully. Of course, she reads and writes and does math well enough to take charge of any size household.”
Her mother was listing her attributes like a horse for sale. Soon she might gush about her straight teeth and invite the duke to take a look.
This had to end. Being in his presence usurped her discretion, and she couldn’t risk slipping. “I have the skills of the average lady.”
He cocked his head to the side. “There seems to be far more to you than you admit,” he murmured.
Her face heated.
“What are you hiding?”
She bit back a gasp. “Hiding? What do you mean?”
“Don’t play coy.”
Did he know?
They stared at each other for a minute. “I assume you are an excellent dancer as well,” he prodded.
She breathed out in pure relief.
“I would be honored if you would grace me with a dance.”
Relief died.
Yet for just a moment, something akin to excitement flashed through her. She forced it aside. She was not some na?ve girl just out of the schoolroom. She knew the consequences of giving herself to a man like Bradenton.
“What a gracious honor, Your Grace. How I wish I could say yes, but all my dances are taken.”
Instead of disappointment, challenge lit his eyes. Focused. Unrelenting. Unstoppable.
“You appear to have several spots remaining.” He pointed to her card, which was hanging at an angle to reveal empty lines.
“I left those blank on purpose. I have something to do.”
“I see. If you don’t mind my asking, what do you have planned?”
Investigating. “I get a little tired after dancing and need a rest.” She batted her eyelashes. “Besides shopping, resting is my favorite thing to do.”
The duke’s eyes lit again. The schemes that worked so well with other men had little effect on the clever lord.
“That something you have to do is dance with the duke who was gracious enough to ask.” Her mother snatched the card off her wrist, her lips stretched in a smile so wide, it looked as if her face might crack. She handed the card to the duke. “Take as many dances as you would like, Your Grace.”
Priscilla fought not to grab the card back. Of course as a gentleman, he would just hand it back to her–
He scribbled his name across two lines.
Her mother’s smile became twice as wide and a thousand times more genuine. She clapped her hands.
Priscilla counted to ten. One vase, two vases, three vases, four– “You signed two.”
He shrugged. “It gives us longer to converse. But don’t worry, you still have plenty of time to rest. And perhaps you will even find the opportunity to shop.”
Why, that sneaky– “But Your Grace, if we dance twice in a row, people may get the wrong idea.”
Really?” He leaned closer. “And what idea might that be?”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. The scent of musk and oakmoss surrounded her.
“I don’t see any problem at all!” her mother chirped, her eyes dancing with delight. “Priscilla is very pleased to enjoy your company. Aren’t you, dear?”
Priscilla clenched her teeth. “Of course.”
She hadn’t a choice. She couldn’t outright insult the duke. At least two dances would give her enough time to convince him to discontinue his pursuit.
She wouldn’t think about the consequences if she couldn’t.
“I look forward to it.”
By now, several people had approached, more eager mamas with more eligible ladies. Bradenton nodded at Priscilla, “Until our dance.” With one last nod, he bid her goodbye.
He was stealing two dances, but she would not allow him to sabotage her investigation. Lord Roxbury, the ball’s host, always voted against measures that aided the lower classes, convinced others to do the same. If she could find something that would change his mind, it might just be worth scandal. The risk to her person?
Still worth it.
But now Bradenton scheduled two dances in the span she’d allotted for sleuthing. Was there enough time before then? She couldn’t be late, because he may start searching for her if she didn’t show. Yet if she hurried…
She turned around. Roxbury was standing in a corner, arguing with his wife. Lady Roxbury’s face flushed with anger, and with an angry gesture, she stomped off.
Priscilla stood up straighter.
Her last success with changing votes had been through a lady. With all their talk about how ladies were not their intellectual equals, men were often easily swayed by them. Perhaps if she could talk to Lady Roxbury, she might be able to convince her to influence her husband.
She took a deep breath. Her chance was now. With one last quick glance around the ballroom, she turned towards the door.
Time for Lord P to do some investigating.