London, December 1821Phillip had always had the devil's own luck, but not tonight. At the moment, he sat at a green baize tabletop playing faro and losing badly.Faro was a game partly of skill and partly of chance, and tonight both were failing him. His opponent, a dark-haired man who'd introduced himself as Daniel Sheffield, was racking up debts against him with an ease that worried Phillip."Another hand?" Sheffield challenged. "One good hand would set me right."Phillip jerked slightly as Graham gripped his arm in warning, but he took no heed."Another," Phillip said. He watched the dealer lay out thirteen cards and placed his bet as to which card the dealer would turn up next. Sheffield doubled Phillip's bet, and Graham stiffened beside him.Phillip tried to keep calm, but the fact was his debts were too high to turn back. But if he won this hand, everything would be fine.Sheffield's lips twitched a moment before the dealer turned the card over. Phillip's stomach dropped.
Ella was tired of being treated as though she were a fragile flower. Yes, she had been a weak child, always catching ill, but she hadn't been ill in years."Mother, I really wish to go to Lady Amelia's ball. She said that many handsome young men have been invited." She didn't add that she wasn't interested in any of them, but her mother might believe that and be more inclined to let her go.Her mother paused in her reading of the Morning Post and sighed thoughtfully. "Dancing too much tires you out, my dear. I don't wish to put you at risk.""I'm not made of spun glass. One dance will not shatter me.""I distinctly remember that you had a coughing fit at the last one, only a month ago."Ella rolled her eyes. "That wasn't my fault. Lady Casterly smothered her entire body in some overripe eau de cologne. More than one person succumbed to a coughing fit when they found themselves within breathing distance of her. Lord Evanston even knocked over a tray of ratafia when he started cough
Ella arrived at Charles's townhouse two hours later, hastily thanking his butler, Mr. Ramsey."Good afternoon, Ramsey. I've come to see my brother and Lord Kent."The butler nodded. "This way. His lordship mentioned you may come by," Mr. Ramsey replied, and his eyes deepened with concern. "Your brother and Lord Kent are resting upstairs. Which do you prefer to see first?""My brother," she added, and Ramsey showed her to an upstairs chamber. Graham was sleeping, but Ramsey assured her that the doctor had said he would be better in a few days."I must warn you, Miss Humphrey, Lord Kent is in a bad way, a very bad way indeed. Best to brace yourself.""Thank you." She followed him to another bedroom. The room was dark, but a few lamps had been lit. Ella's heart skipped a beat as she glimpsed a figure lying on the bed."Is there anything I can do for him?" she asked."Be with him," Mr. Ramsey said. "Just let him feel your presence. The doctor told us that if he can survive the week,
Phillip hurt everywhere. There was not one bit of muscle, sinew, or bone that didn't ache, tighten, or scream in agony. His thoughts were broken, mere fragments as a pulse pounded inside his throbbing skull. He tried to speak, but the breath in his lungs was too shallow. His limbs were like dead weights at his sides as he fought in vain to move, even an inch in any direction.What happened? What?He struggled to catch hold of his last memories.Cardswagerstunnelsblood.He'd lost a wager to a man and agreed to fight in the Lewis Street tunnelsand he'd been attacked, outnumbered and beaten near to death."Rest now. You're safe." A soft voice drifted through his head. A sweet scent filled his nose. A familiar scent"Help" The word was barely a rasp."Are you thirsty?" the voice asked.He tried to nod, but his head throbbed. Only a whimper escaped his lips."Don't move. The doctor said you must rest. Here, take some water." A glass was pressed to his mouth, and he sighed as cool w
One year later"If I have to listen to one more man explain to me that business and politics are not things to concern myself with," Ella growled over the rim of her teacup."It is most frustrating," her friend, Audrey St. Laurent, agreed. "I often say some men need a good whack to the heador between their legs, depending on the man."Ella snickered but then sighed as her mood deflated again."What's truly bothering you?" Audrey inquired.Ella glanced about Audrey's morning room, seeking a distraction from her mortification, but they were alone. A fire crackled in the hearth, and sunlight glinted off the snow outside. It was a perfectly lovely day, which made her black mood all the worse."At one and twenty, it seems I'm now to attract the worst sort of men. I was at Lady Hearst's ball last evening, and every single man I danced with lectured me about how fortunate I was to even be dancing at my age. To make it worse, the younger ladies have taken offense at my being there. More
Phillip sat in the faded armchair in his study, staring into the crackling fire in the fireplace. His left leg ached, especially during the damp winter months. He rubbed his thigh, squeezing the muscles, and then farther down to his shin and calf. The muscles were still weak from the lack of use. But it hurt too much to walk, so he did so only when necessary.A sound from the hall below caught his attention. Voices. Who the devil could Boucher be talking to? They'd reduced the staff over the last year, mainly because he had shut up most of the house since he remained close to his bedchamber and never entertained. He sat up a little in his chair, listening to the sounds of a woman. The pair of maids he still employed were likely on the first floor of the house at the farthest end where the other bedchambers were or in the kitchens."Boucher?" he called out, but his voice was hoarse since he hadn't used it in what felt like days. He hadn't had occasion to see anyone or truly talk to an
Ella followed Mr. Boucher through the house as he escorted her to her chambers for the night. Most of the furniture was covered in cloth to protect from sunlight and dust. Many of the tall paned windows throughout the house were shuttered, effectively sealing off the rooms from light and life. This beautiful house had been emptied of people. Closed off, just like its master.They passed into one of the few more well-lit rooms, a long hall with paintings of fine-faced men and women. She glanced up at more than one of the portraits, seeing Phillip's eyes or chin, even his nose in several of the ancestors upon the walls."Mr. Boucher.""Yes, Lady Ella?""Is he in much pain?" She was perhaps indelicate to inquire about Phillip's injuries in such a way, but she needed answers.Boucher paused to look at her in the moonlight. Whatever he seemed to be looking for he must have found."Yes. In the beginning, he couldn't walk. He lay in bed for several weeks, only moving with the aid of oth
The following morning, Ella stepped out into the courtyard between the two gatehouses and blinked in surprise to find Phillip dressed and ready to leave. She'd thought perhaps after last night he wouldn't come. Yet there he was, eyes glinting with amusement at her astonishment.He looked dashing in buff trousers and an indigo waistcoat. A greatcoat hung around his shoulders, only adding to the handsome picture he presented. Beyond him a large traveling coach stood ready. Marcus and Cora were helping the driver secure several valises to the back of the coach. The morning sky was still a watery gray as the sun failed to penetrate the heavy snow clouds that had gathered above them.Phillip greeted her with a smile as she reached him. "Good morning."She smiled back, but a sudden bout of nerves made her tremble. Had she really asked him to tutor her in seduction last night? The reality of that moment was now a little daunting in the cold light of day."Come now, don't be shy," Phillip