Chapter 1 #3
The fire in the hearth sank low, the bright embers casting uneven shapes on the walls. He needed to stay among those shadows. The true Earl of Brenton would have to remain a ghost, even to those who loved him best.
After rising early the next morning to exercise Apollo and check on the welfare of a few tenants, James refused Barlow’s plea that he allow a manservant to help him dress since his valet had not arrived yet.
James had become accustomed to dressing himself as he was often in unusual circumstances and could achieve a cravat precise enough to satisfy even the most exacting matrons.
He secured his favorite gold sleeve buttons, then smoothed pomade through his dark brown hair, arranging the locks into a semblance of order.
Satisfied, he strode from his chamber, wishing the task was already behind him.
He spent the early afternoon on overdue correspondence and a meeting with his steward, though he was aware of every tick of the clock on the mantel.
When the hour finally arrived, he strode toward the stables, keeping his nerves in check.
This, he reminded himself, was a perfectly sensible arrangement.
It had the approval of both sets of parents.
Compared to the dangers he was used to—uncovering secrets, intercepting messages, unmasking traitors—proposing marriage should be absurdly straightforward.
It might be, if one ignored the fact he was asking a woman to commit herself to a life of half-truths and long absences. A wife deserved affection, honesty, and a husband who was not constantly hunting shadows and expecting them to find him in return. He could offer none of that.
And the entire affair would undoubtedly be far simpler if the lady in question were anyone but Kate.
She’d always possessed a talent for getting caught up in adventures, particularly the troublesome kind that ended in scraped knees and stern lectures.
She had been laughter and sunshine and that particular brand of mischief that made regret impossible.
But that was the girl of his memory, and the five years since he had last seen her stretched between them like an unbridgeable chasm.
He mounted and guided Apollo toward the well-worn path between Brenton Hall and Fairhaven Park. During the night, the rain had stopped and the air had gone frigid, freezing yesterday’s mud. The faint afternoon sun flickered through the empty branches above as he navigated the familiar road.
Their families had been close for as long as he could remember.
The two fathers had grown up as childhood friends, and their wives had become inseparable as well.
When Kate was born, so was the expectation of a match between the families.
Over the years, those hushed whispers grew bolder.
Eventually, everyone in their circle and most of society accepted that James and Kate were a matched set.
The last time he had seen her, he was twenty, and she was a year or two away from her debut in society.
His years at school had loosened the bond they had shared as children, leaving only polite, distant friendship.
Then James’s life had taken a new path after his father’s funeral, when Westmarch approached him with an unexpected proposition.
The man was already a trusted friend to both families, thanks to his help with a complicated matter years earlier, and his position at the Home Office in Whitehall placed him at the uneasy intersection of government business and government secrets.
From the day James accepted that life, he had avoided Kate entirely.
He reasoned that if he must marry now, it might as well be to the lady his family expected him to wed since he had never had more than a passing fancy for any other woman of his acquaintance. His recent activities were ill-suited to courting, and he was grateful there was no need for it with Kate.
He approached Fairhaven Park’s ivy-covered walls, resisting the urge to disturb his carefully arranged hair as he ascended the steps. He had already made his decision. Irritated though he was at being forced, he would not retreat now.
The family’s butler welcomed him inside. “This way, my lord. Lord Sutherland is expecting you in his study.”
James followed the servant toward the corridor until a soft rustle of fabric sounded above him.
A woman stood on the landing. Kate.
He forgot to move.
The mischievous schoolgirl was gone; in her place stood a lady who was poised, striking, and entirely unfamiliar.
Her rich chestnut hair was swept high from the elegant line of her neck.
The eyes that appraised him were the precise shade of blue he remembered, but they were no longer playful. Now, they sparked with a challenge.
Something within him shifted—subtle, swift, and entirely unwelcome. James forced himself to break the connection first. He continued toward the study, holding fast to his composure, refusing to give a name or meaning to his sudden awareness of her presence.