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Chapter 1
Buckinghamshire, Summer 1865
Young ladies did not lie prone on the rug behind the library’s chesterfield and play chess against themselves They did not stuff their cheeks with boiled sweets before breakfast Lucie knew this But it was the summer holidays and the dullest of the ouldn’t play with girls anymore; newly arrived cousin Cecily was the type of child who cried easily; and, at barely thirteen years of age, Lucie found she was too young to just decorously die of boredom Her mother, on the other hand, would probably consider this quite a noble death Then again, to the Countess of Wycliffe, s were preferable over hoydenish behavior
The smell of leather and dust was in her nose and the library was pleasantly silent Morning sun pooled on the chessboard and ht like a beacon She was in peril—a rogue knight had set a trap, and Her Majesty could now choose to sacrifice herself to protect the king, or to let hiers hovered over the polished ivory crown, indecisive
Rapid footsteps echoed in the hallway
Her mother’s delicate heels—but Mother never ran?
The door flew open
“How could you? How could you?”
Lucie froze Her e
The door slaain and the floor shook from the force of it
“In front of everyone, the whole ballroom—”
“Come now, must you carry on so?”
Her stomach felt hollow It was her father, his tone coldly bored and cutting
“Everyone knohile I’m abed at home, oblivious!”
“Good Gad Why Rochester’s wife calls herself your friend is beyondlike a ht; it is rather like her erratic self to invite herself, to arrive late and unannounced—”
“She stays,” snapped Mama “She must stay—one honest person in a pit of snakes”
Her father laughed “Lady Rochester, honest? Have you seen her son? What an odd little ginger fellow—I’d wager a thousand pounds he isn’t even Rochester’s spawn—”
“What about you, Wycliffe? Howyour side pieces?”
“Now This is below you, wife”
There was a pause, and it stretched and grew heavy like a lead blanket
Lucie’s heart was druainst her ribs, hard and painful, the thuds so loud, they had to hear it
A sob shattered the quiet and it hit her sto
“I beseech you, Thorant me discretion?”
“Discretion— can be heard from miles away!”
“I gave you To you Tommy and yet you flaunt thatthat person—in front of everyone”
“Saints, grant me patience—why am I shackled to such an overemotional female?”
“I love you so, Thomas Why, why can’t you love me?”
A groan, fraught with ih your hysterics do e”
“Why h for you?”
“Because, my dear, I am a man May I have some peace in my library now, please”
A hesitation; then, a gasp that sounded like surrender
The thud of the heavy door falling shut once more came froed with boiled sweets; she’d have to breathe through her mouth But he would hear her
She could hold out She would not breathe
The snick of a lighter Wycliffe had lit a cigarette Floorboards creaked Leather crunched He had settled into his armchair
Her lungs were burning, and her fingers hite as bone, alien and clawlike against the dizzying swirls of the rug
Still she lay silent King and queen blurred before her eyes
She could hold out
Black began edging her vision It was as though she’d never breathe again
Paper rustled The earl was reading thenews
A reen woods of Wycliffe Park, Tristan Ballentine, the second son of the Earl of Rochester, had just decided to spend all his future suht have to befriend To at Eton, to put this plan into practice, but thewalks alone would be worth it Unlike the estate of his family seat, where every shrub was pruned and accounted for, Wycliffe Park left nature to its own devices Trees gnarled Shrubbery sprawled The air ith the fragrance of forest flowers And he had found aWordsworth: a circular clearing at the end of a holloay A large standing stone loomed at its center
Dew drenched his trouser legs as he circled the monolith It looked suspiciously like a fairy stone, weathered and conical, planted here before all tie, he was too old to believe in fairies and the like His father had made this abundantly clear Poetry, too, was forbidden in Ashdown Castle Romantic lines ran counter to the Ballentine or” But here, who could find hie’s Lyrical Ballads was at the ready
He shrugged out of his coat and spread it on the grass, then made to stretch himself out on his belly The fine fabric of his trousers proainst the broken skin on his backside,him hiss in pain His father drove his lessons home with a cane And yesterday, the earl had been overzealous, again It hy Marabbed his books, and they had taken off to visit her friend Lady Wycliffe for the summer
He tried finding a coave up, unhooked his braces and began unbuttoning the fall of the pesky trousers The next an to shake
For a beat, he froze
He snatched his coat and dove behind the standing stone just as a black horse thundered into view in the holloay Afros and heroes rode It scra lu with plate-sized hooves
He gasped with shocked surprise
The rider was no king No hero The rider was not a man at all
It was a girl
She wore boots and breeches like a boy and rode astride, but there was no doubt she was a girl A coolly shi fall of ice-blond hair streamed down her back and whirled round her like a silken veil when the horse pivoted
He couldn’t have aze riveted to her face—was she real? Her facewas perfect Delicate and heart-shaped, with fine, winged eyebrows and an obstinate, pointy little chin A fairy
But her cheeks were flushed an angry pink and her lips pressed into a line She looked ready to ride into battle on the big black beast
She made to slide from the saddle, and he shrank back behind the stone He should show himself His mouth went dry What would he say? What did one say to someone so lovely and fierce?
Her boots hit the ground with a light thud She
He craned his neck The girl was gone Quietly, he crept forward When he rose to a crouch, he spotted her supine for wide
He htened, peering down
Her eyes were closed Her lashes lay dark and straight against her pale cheeks The glea strands of her hair fanned out around her head like rays of a white cold winter sun
His heart was racing A powerful ache welled froency, a dread, of sorts—this was a rare, precious opportunity and he oefully unprepared to grasp it He had not known girls like her existed, outside the fairy books and the princesses of the Nordic sagas he had to read in secret
An angry snort tore through the silence The stallion was approaching, ears flat and teeth bared
“Hell,” Tristan said
The girl’s eyes snapped open They stared at each other, her flat on her back, hi
She was on her feet like a shot “You! You are trespassing”
She had looked petite, but they stood nearly eye to eye
He felt his face freeze in a dirin “No, I—”
Storray eyes narrowed at him “I knoho you are You are Lady Rochester’s son”
He remembered to bow his head Quite nicely, too “Tristan Ballentine Your servant”
“You were spying on me!”
“No Yes Well, a little,” he admitted, for he had
It was the worst moment to remember that the flap of his trousers was still half undone Reflexively, he reached for the buttons, and the girl’s gaze followed
She gasped
Next he knew, her hand flew up and pain exploded in his left cheek He staggered back, disoriented and clutching his face He half-expected his hand to come away smeared with red
He looked from his palm at her face “Now that was uncalled for”
A flicker of uncertainty, perhaps contrition, briefly cooled the blaze in her eyes Then she raised her hand with renewed deter yet,” she snarled “Leave er” ;Chapter 1