Chapter One

Snowflakes floated out of the dawn sky and covered the park meadow in white. Julian Kane could easily picture how that spotless counterpane would look splattered with his blood.

His yell of laughing desecrated the stillness of the snowflakes falling. “Cubby, what do you say, my man? Should we belt out a few verses of “The Girl I Left Behind Me” to inspire us to greatness? He lost his balance as a sharp bump caught his foot, forcing him to lean even more heavily on his friend’s broad shoulders. Maybe “Blow the Man Down” would be a better choice.

Cuthbert wobbled to the right, trying to hold Julian and the mahogany box under his free arm in place. Jules, I’d rather not. There is a severe pain in my head. I can’t believe I succumbed to your persuasiveness. What kind of second lets his first spend the entire night drinking and getting foxed before a duel? While there was still time, you ought to have allowed me to take you back to the Continent on that ferry.

He received a scolding finger from Julian. “Don’t lecture. If I had want a nag, I would have wed one.

Cuthbert snorted pitifully. I’d be snuggled in my comfy bed right now, daydreaming about opera dancers and toasting my feet on a warm brick, if you’d had the good sense to fall in love and marry some miserable chit, Wallingford wouldn’t have discovered you nuzzling his fiancée’s ear at their betrothal supper.

“You make fun of me, Cubby! I have never met a woman who I didn’t adore.

Instead, you adore every lady you come across. There is a distinction, even if it is slight. As his companion stepped on the side of his foot, Cuthbert said. He had consumed almost as many bottles of cheap port as Julian, but at least he was still capable of standing unaided. right now.

“Shhhhhhh!” Starlings flew out of a nearby alder and were frightened by his friend’s loud request for stillness. Julian made a graceful gloved point.

They can now be seen hiding beneath the fir copse.

Cuthbert could see that the gents seated next to the crested town coach on the opposite side of the meadow were not trying to hide. The marquess of Wallingford, Miles Devonforth, was pacing a little snowdrift. Even when he snatched his watch out of his fob pocket to stare at its face, his tautly controlled steps remained the same. Two men in thick box jackets and an ominous figure dressed entirely in black were following him. Cuthbert bitterly reasoned that the person called in to treat the loser of this illicit contest was probably some dubious surgeon who dabbled in undertaking.

Or to determine the size of his casket.

He felt a chill of fear run down his spine. He pulled Julian to a stop as he pushed a sandy hair out of his hazel eyes and grew increasingly desperate. Come on, Jules. It’s still possible. How will they proceed? Shoot you in the rear and run us over in their carriage? Why, I’ll even accompany you back to the Continent! We’ll sail the Rhine, scale the Carpathian Mountains, and take over Rome. In due time, my father will pardon me. Because I purchased that diamond brooch for the delectable young actress you introduced me to in Florence, my allowance has already been cut off by my father. What else can he do? My dad’s a man I know. He won’t ever deny his only son inheritance.

Julian looked accusatory as he curtailed his babbling. “Cubby, bite your tongue. You can’t possibly be saying that I demonstrate that I am the most hated of all beings—a guy without honor.”

Julian’s soulful dark eyes pinned him with a gaze replete with wounded pride and sly self-mockery beneath the sable fringe of his eyelashes. The combination was overwhelmingly attractive to women. Cuthbert felt the same way.

Who was he to turn down his friend at this time? He was just a dim-witted earl’s son, set to inherit a title and money he hadn’t worked for and pass away in his bed in a comfortable old age. If Julian hadn’t saved him from a vengeful creditor at their very first encounter in a moonlight Florence alley, he wouldn’t even have made it through his Grand Tour. After Julian and his regiment defeated 60,000 vicious Burmese warriors on the outskirts of Rangoon a little more than a year ago, the Crown hailed him as a war hero. He had not always dealt with his own mortality with such casual elegance.

Cuthbert lamented his loss.

Julian attempted to haul himself upright after giving his shoulder a solace-inducing pat. My man, unhand me, Cubby. I’m resolved to advance and stand my ground against the opposition. He yelled, “Devonforth!” while shaking his shoulder-length mane of dark hair out of his eyes.

The marquess turned with his solemn group. By using the nobleman’s last name instead of his title, Julian had merely made matters worse. Cuthbert thought he heard the marquess’s strained breath hiss, but it might have just been the icy January wind dashing past his cold ears.

Julian marched forward to cut across Wallingford’s route, fighting valiantly against the swirling snow. Julian paused at the top of a knoll to throw back his big shoulders as Cuthbert clung to the wooden box, a touch of pride penetrating his fear. He might have been getting ready to confront the monsoon season’s blinding wind and downpours in Burma. Nobody would have imagined that he had quit the service immediately following the Battle of Rangoon and had instead spent the previous 18 months drinking and gambling his way around Europe.

As Julian’s bearing changed, causing him to gently fall backward like a felled oak, Cuthbert’s pride turned to fear. Cuthbert dropped the box and lunged forward to grab him by the armpits before he could sprawl out on the snow to his full length.

While adjusting himself, Julian grinned quietly. I wouldn’t have spread out my sails if I had known the wind would be that strong.

“Christ, Kane, you smell like the devil!”

The marquess was sneering down his long, horse nose at them when Cuthbert looked up.

Julian made an adorable smile with his lips. Are you positive that that is not your fiance’s perfume?

Wallingford’s face turned a deadly shade of black. My fiancée, Miss Englewood, is no longer with me.

Julian’s smile was directed at Cuthbert. Please remind me to phone the young woman this evening and extend my sincere congratulations.

I don’t think you’ll get the chance. She’ll likely be expressing her sympathies to your pal here. As he had done to Julian’s cheek at dinner the previous night, Wallingford removed his child gloves and smacked them against his palm. “Shall we move on with this now? You’ve already squandered a good deal of my time.

Julian cut off Cuthbert’s complaint as he mumbled it. “The gentleman is correct, I think. I’ve already squandered enough time from everyone.

Without the chance for further discussion, Cuthbert took the box back and fiddled with its clasp. A pair of shining dueling pistols were visible when the lid suddenly burst out. His hand started to shake as he went for one of the weapons due to a palsy that had nothing to do with the cold.

There’s no need, Julian murmured as he cupped his palm over his to keep it steady. I verified them by myself.

But I have to examine the charge. It’s my responsibility as your second to…

Julian carefully pry the rifle away from him after shaking his head. Cuthbert and his friend’s gazes locked, and he saw a fleeting glimpse of something strange in his friend’s eyes—a grim resignation that caused a lump of unwarranted sorrow to form in his own throat. But before Cuthbert could convince himself that it wasn’t just an illusion brought on by too much alcohol and not enough sleep, Julian exorcised it with one of his demonic winks.

Cuthbert’s thoughts were clouded by terse details as they debated the contest’s rules with Wallingford and his second. The two warriors were to start off side by side and then advance ten paces apart. Only one round of fire was to be permitted, and their handguns had to be held muzzles up and pointed at the sky. Cuthbert regarded the emaciated ghost of Wallingford’s mortician. Julian should not have needed a second volley given how buried he was in his cups.

Too quickly, the lankier Wallingford and Julian had taken their places, standing opposite one another like mismatched bookends.

The neutral party sent by the marquess yelled, “Gentlemen, are you ready?” He started counting when they both nodded. “One…two…three…”

Cuthbert wanted to throw himself between the two guys and scream in outrage. But

He had to stay still due to the frigid wind blowing from the north because of his sense of honor.

“…seven…eight…nine…”

Cuthbert forced his eyes shut, knowing he was the basest of cowards and an abhorrent second, but unable to see his comrade perish.

“Ten!”

The peace of the meadow was shattered by a gun blast. The pungent smell of gunpowder made Cuthbert’s nose tingle. His worst worries had come true when he finally slowly opened his eyes.

Wallingford was standing forty feet away with a smoking revolver in his hand while Julian was splayed out in the snow. The good-natured Cuthbert experienced a wave of deadly wrath as a result of the grim enjoyment on his face.

Icy snow specks pricked his eyes as he forced his focus back to his friend’s immobile figure. He bowed his head and pulled his hat off with a shaking hand.

Bleeding hell

Cuthbert’s head snapped up at the sneering oath, which was delivered in such recognisable tones. More effectively than a blast of freezing air, disbelief rushed through his veins and brought him to consciousness.

Wallingford’s obnoxious smile vanished as Julian sat up and blinked the snow from his eyes. Cuthbert fell to his knees in the snow and stumbled to his friend’s side while yelling with excitement. The distance between Julian’s hand and his pistol was around a foot. Evidently, he hadn’t even been able to fire a shot. Cuthbert shook his head in wonder at his friend’s incredible luck.

The marquess yelled, “I don’t understand.” “I swear my aim was true,” the speaker said.

The second man scowled, appearing equally perplexed. Maybe there was a misfire, my lord, or maybe he lost his balance just as you released the trigger.

With his aristocratic upper lip curved in a scowl, Wallingford walked over to stare down at them. His second nervously peeked over his shoulder, obviously worried he would somehow be held responsible for this disaster.

Julian smiled sheepishly with his lips curled. Sorry, friends. I have always held my women more securely than my port.

As Wallingford grabbed his last pistol from his second and pointed it directly at Julian’s heart, Cuthbert’s blood began to freeze once more. Julian regarded him with languid amusement, refusing to even quiver for the sake of his enemy. Cuthbert instinctively knew that Wallingford would murder them both without hesitation if Julian showed even the slightest sign of fear or made a single cry for mercy, and he would pay the undertaker to claim that Cuthbert had drawn a gun on him after the marquess had killed his buddy.

Cuthbert exhaled in relief as Wallingford gradually lowered the weapon.

The marquess’ smooth voice trembled with disdain. “You scurrilous bastard, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish you were dead. I took the liberty of paying off all of your gambling bets as I figured you wouldn’t even bother to show here this morning. He reached into his waistcoat pocket, pulled out a stack of IOUs that was three inches thick, and raked them in front of Julian’s nose while stooping. “You are mine, Kane. Body and spirit.

Julian started to chuckle and then began to laugh out loud. “I’m sorry, but you’re late. The devil long since beat you to that specific vowel.

The marquess was further incensed by his laughter. “Then I can only pray that he arrives to collect very soon, as I’d love nothing more than to watch you rot in hell for all of eternity!”

Wallingford walked toward the carriage while turning on his heel. The undertaker was clearly upset at not being able to do his job as his friends followed in his wake.

A really rude individual, isn’t he? Cuthbert uttered a sigh. “Do you imagine he has dyspepsia or gout?”

Cuthbert and Julian were left on their own in the hazy silence of the meadow as the enraged jingling of the wagon harnesses faded. Julian simply sat there and read one

He was holding his arm up and looking up at the sky. Cuthbert was more disturbed by his unusual stillness than by the whole morning. He had become accustomed to counting on his friend’s repartee and sharp wit. It had always been too difficult for him to come up with witty remarks.

A gloomy shadow of a smile appeared on Julian’s face just as he was about to attempt to speak again by clearing his throat. Despite my best attempts, it appears that I won’t be killed on a dueling field while still tasting another man’s woman.

Cuthbert pulled Julian to his feet after putting the weapon back in its case and tucking the case under his arm. “Never lose all hope. Perhaps a prolonged drinking binge will still cause you to pass away in debtor’s prison.

Cuthbert saw the tear in the front of Julian’s black greatcoat as he was swinging him around to have him facing the right way.

Knowing that his friend was far more particular about his clothing than he was about his countless matters of the heart, he inquired, “What’s this?”

He ran his fingers across the delicately woven wool as he considered the jagged rip. The threads that rimmed its edge were twisted and blackened, almost as if they had been burnt, and it was well over an inch broad.

When Julian grabbed his hand with a soft yet firm grip, he had already begun to work one finger through the gap. “I must have grazed my coat on the marquess’ gun shot as I fell. Bless his soul! I would have forced him to tear up one of those IOUs if I had known it sooner. Old Weston himself, the king’s preferred tailor, made this coat, the man remarked. It cost me almost five pounds.

The warning glitter in his friend’s black eyes forced Cuthbert to cautiously withdraw his hand.

Julian gave him a handshake and grinned as he did so. My toes are almost freezing, come, Cubby, my dear man. For breakfast, why don’t we enjoy a beautiful, warm bottle of port?

Cuthbert followed him as he turned and began to move across the meadow, questioning his own senses. He almost would have professed…

Julian jerked to a stop and turned around, his eyes getting smaller. A few yards away, an old yew tree with snow-frosted gnarled arms stood at the edge of the meadow. He turned his piercing dark gaze toward it. His tasteful nostrils twitched, then flared, as if he had caught a particularly alluring aroma. Cuthbert took a step away from him as his lips pulled away from his teeth for a fleeting moment and an almost savage quality appeared in his expression.

“What’s that?” Cuthbert mumbled. Has the marquess come back around to kill us off?

After pausing for a brief period, Julian shook his head, the predatory gleam vanishing from his gaze. “I suppose it’s nothing at all. merely a phantom from my past.

He glanced through his narrowed eyes one final time at the yew before moving on across the field. Julian began singing the chorus of “The Girl I Left Behind Me” in a baritone so admirable that the angels might have wept. Cuthbert followed suit.

The woman was crouched behind the yew tree, leaning against its wide trunk as her knees began to buckle. She was left alone with the whisper of falling snow and the erratic throb of her heart in her ears as the song’s tones gradually faded. She was unable to describe whether her heart was racing with excitement or fear. She simply knew that in almost six years, she had not felt this alive.

Torn between hoping the rumor was real and praying it wasn’t, she had sneaked out of the home before dawn and given her driver instructions to follow the marquess and his party to the park. But it only took a quick glance around the tree for her to transform back into the giddy, infatuated seventeen-year-old she once was.

As though she were recording the closing seconds of her own life, she had tallied up each step the duelists took. It took everything she had not to jump out from behind the tree and scream a warning when the marquess turned, pistol at the ready. She grasped her chest after hearing the pistol shot and saw the marquess’s opponent collapse to the ground because she thought her own heart had stopped.

But as soon as he stood up, it began to beat once more, shaking his dark mane of hair out of his face. She had forgotten her own danger until it was almost too late because she was so drunk with relief.

When he abruptly stopped and turned, his body was taut with the tensile grace she only too well remembered. She had been staring after him with her heart in her eyes.

With her breath held, she had dived back under the tree. Even with the yew’s protective trunk between them, she could feel his gaze pierce her defenses, leaving her just as exposed as when he kissed her on the brow their previous meeting. She had her eyes tightly closed and caressed the velvet choker around the thin column of her throat with one hand.

Then he vanished, his voice becoming only an echo and then a memory. She retreated from the tree’s shadow. The footsteps that were left behind and the void where his body had been lying were filled with fat snowflakes that had fallen from the sky. There would soon be no physical evidence behind from the misguided duel.

She nearly felt sorry for his sand-haired companion’s naivety. Even though she had almost six years to develop the ability to accept the impossible, she still had to bite back a startled gasp when that lean shape emerged from its snowy tomb. She was very aware of what the man would have discovered if his companion’s hand hadn’t been restrained. That chubby finger would have squirmed through a greatcoat, coat, waistcoat, and shirt before brushing against the flawless skin of a heart that the marquess’ pistol round ought to have crushed.

Portia Cabot curled her lush lips into a small smile as she adjusted the veil on the brim of her sweeping hat. She had no regrets about her impulsive adventure. She had shown the rumors weren’t just idle chitchat.

Kane Julian had returned home. The old scoundrel would merely have to get there first if the devil want his soul.