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PROLOGUE

Twenty-Six Years Ago

“To Lady Dorothy!” Charles Richards, the Duke of Sarsen, raised a crystal glass filled with amber-colored brandy. “May Her Grace continue to bear you many more healthy children!”

Benedict Leedway, the Duke of Reeds, shook his head. “You speak as if she is a brood-mare, Sarsen! My Lord…”

Sarsen grinned shamelessly. It was an expression Benedict knew quite well from their shared days at Oxford.

Benedict, being inclined to study, had spent many hours attending lectures and taking exams. He had a knowledge of law which rivaled that of any barrister. Sarsen, however, had become an irredeemable rake, whose reputation for mischief was well known. Every time the man was caught engaged in some untoward activity, he would give that same rakish smile.

Sarsen was a handsome man, too. Benedict had seen countless well-bred ladies utterly charmed by a glance from Sarsen’s green eyes. Even though he was approaching five-and-thirty years, Sarsen still cut a dashing figure.

“Reeds, you cannot expect a man to speak properly when he is in his cups!” Sarsen exclaimed. “And if ever there was a night to drink like a rogue, it is surely tonight!”

Benedict shook his head, although he did not disagree. He had also indulged with more enthusiasm than usual. It was not only the arrival of his daughter which pleased him but his wife’s good health. While his lady’s first birth—that of their son Elias—had been quick and uneventful, Dorothy had been difficult from the start.

“Perhaps, you are right,” Benedict replied at last.

“Iknowthat I am right!”

Sarsen finished his glass of brandy and gestured for it to be filled again, which promptly was. “Fill his as well,” Sarsen said, gesturing to Benedict’s glass.

Benedict leaned back in his chair, just barely glancing at the young man who filled the glass with brandy.

“How is your duchess?” Benedict asked. “Shall we soon anticipate an heir for you?”

“Not for some months.” The man was not slurring his words, but his voice was unusually loud. “My lady has written that she is well. She asked to stay in Bath during her pregnancy.”

That was to be expected. The Duchess of Sarsen had a well-known dislike for the city of London. She found it too loud and crowded for her nerves, which were quite fragile. Benedict took a swallow of his brandy, savoring the warmth the drink caused to spread through his chest.

“We must celebrate when your heir arrives,” Benedict said.

Sarsen shook his head. “We do not know if the child willbean heir yet. My lady is quite nervous. Her own mother produced only daughters.”

“Seven of them,” Benedict said. “Each more beautiful than the last.”

Sarsen winked. “That is why I married the youngest.”

“But surely, that does not mean your union will produce only daughters,” Benedict replied. “On the contrary, I feel rather certain that your first child will be an heir.”

Sarsen chuckled. “Do you?”

“Indeed.”

Benedict drank more of the brandy. He would not say that he was truly intoxicated, but the world around him was beginning to take on a warm and pleasant feeling. Everything in the club seemed softer somehow, and his worries over his wife seemed like nothing more than fleeting nightmares, vanquished by daylight.

“Well,” Sarsen said, “if my first child is an heir, I will marry him to your Dorothy.”

Benedict laughed. “Will you?”

“Why not?”

Benedict sipped his drink, trying to find a witty retort, but he had none. “Let us suppose that my daughter does not like your son. What if he grows into a rake like his father?”

Sarsen gasped in mock dismay. “I am wounded, Reeds! How dare you call me arake?”

“Surely, my insult is no more offensive than your lies!” Benedict exclaimed, laughing. “If your son is just like you, I would call that justice!”