How to Not Marry a Lord

Prologue

SUFFOLK, ONE NIGHT IN SPRING

The old house by the sea was quiet. It was very late, and its inhabitants, all women apart from the elderly gardener, were, presumably, sleeping peacefully.

The shutters were in place downstairs, the bedchamber curtains securely drawn upstairs, and not a glimmer of candlelight showed outside.

But the moon was almost full, laying down a silver path across the waters of the deserted bay.

It was quite easy to see one’s way, especially out on the pale sands exposed by the low tide.

It had been raining earlier, and it was still unseasonably cold, but the clouds had now cleared away.

A figure in a long, heavy coat crossed the beach swiftly and surely, and then slowed a little, coming to the foot of the steps that led up to the garden.

The mossy bricks were slippery, uneven in places too, but the mysterious visitor mounted them without difficulty.

Turning towards the outbuildings, the figure – it was quite impossible to say if it was a man or a woman, though one might naturally assume it must be a man, out so late and alone – made their way into the stable, which was freshly swept and pleasant-smelling, to someone who cared for horses.

There had been several hacks and carriage horses here once; there was only one now, and the grey stirred sleepily as he heard an unexpected footstep, and pecked a little at his straw.

But he made no further sound of alarm, and the entrance the trespasser sought was not in his stall, which was close to the front, but in the furthest one.

This was a dark, inconvenient corner even in full daylight, and would always be the last to be used unless the stables were quite crammed.

The people who designed this secret way in and out of the house two hundred years ago, in peril of their lives, had thought of such things.

A light was struck, a stub of candle from a tinderbox, and then a very faint creak could be heard, as of an old key turning in an old lock, and after a moment, the flickering gleam vanished and peace was restored.

It was only a short while later, perhaps five minutes, that the visitor gained his or her objective.

Inside the Tudor house, on the first floor, a panel swung open silently in the angle of a chimneypiece and the intruder stepped out into a dark chamber.

This too presented no problems; there was little furniture to be tripped over, and no accidents occurred at this time of utmost danger.

Nobody woke, nobody cried out in dismay.

A few steps, a rustle of fabric, and then a soft voice, drowsy, sensual, and entirely unsurprised. ‘You came…’

‘Of course I did. How could I resist? Did you doubt me?’

‘Never, but it’s very dangerous. If anyone should see or hear you…’

‘No one has seen or heard me, and I’ll be gone by morning, and nobody any the wiser. Besides, it adds a certain spice, don’t you think?’

No words were given in answer, just a laugh that turned to a gasp.