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Prologue
RyderMontaguesteppedbeneaththe iconic arches of the Danby Gate into the Oxford Botanic Garden and followed the neatly groomed dirt path to the Lower Garden. The weather was cooperating—sunny and a balmy twenty-three degrees Celsius. He inhaled the sweet perfume of flowers and freshly cut grass. Carpets of multi-colored tulips, purple scilla, and yellow daffodils from mid-spring had given way to bluebells, peonies and lupins, their colors a pastel landscape of white, pink, and purple.
A wicker hamper hung from his hand, a rug draped his shoulder, and a ring—an oval cut moonstone set in gold with diamond baguettes—burned a hole in his jeans pocket. He’d found it at a vintage jewelry shop on St. Cross Street.Adularescence, the woman behind the counter called its glowing blue iridescent sheen.
Nathalie always told him how much she loved his blue eyes.
The stone was a kaleidoscope of golden brown and blue in a bed of moss green. He’d fancied it had Nathalie’s eyes and his embedded together in the color of new beginnings.
A symbol of their entwined future to adorn her finger.
The hamper contained a variety of finger sandwiches—smoked salmon, cucumber and cream cheese, chicken, egg, and cress—and a bottle of Dom Perignon swiped from the family wine cellar to celebrate. Ordinarily, the thought of sinking his teeth into the soft white bread, crisp slices of cucumber, and velvety cream cheese would tempt him.
This morning, however, his stomach twisted itself in knots. He’d barely been able to choke down his tea. Food had been impossible.
He reached the Waterlily Pond and circled the landscaped hedge. Nathalie was to meet him at the Herbaceous Border. When weather permitted, she dragged him to the garden to study, spread out on a rug on one of the manicured lawns, her agile brain moving flawlessly from capturing the beauty of nature on one of her drawing pads to mastering computer algorithms in a textbook. He tried to focus on his own material, but it was her he committed to memory. Silky, golden-beige skin, glossy, dark brown curls massed around a heart-shaped face, full lips that created a perfect cupid’s bow. Flecks of gold threaded her large, tobacco-colored eyes framed by long, black lashes.
The first time he’d spotted the pretty American in the Catz library, she’d been doodling flowers in the margins of her notebook whilst she tutored her computer science classmates in functional programming—a concept entirely over Ryder’s head as an economics candidate. She was massively intelligent and beautiful, and he couldn’t imagine ever getting up the nerve to approach her.
After two weeks of his admiring her from a distance, she appeared from behind a stack and spilled her books at his feet. Later, Nathalie admitted she’d been curious about the shy, handsome boy lurking near her table each day and purposely dropped her books to force an introduction.
His shyness was a constant source of irritation to his father and had made his years at Eton difficult. He hadn’t made many friends at Oxford either, preferring to keep to himself.
Until Nathalie.
She brought him out of his shell. Made him feel confident, capable.
Like a man and not simply a placeholder for his family’s ambitions.
And, if today went as expected, he’d have a lifetime with her.
Then, maybe, he could tolerate going to work for his father and fulfilling his duties as the heir to both Arborleigh Holdings—his family’s commercial real estate business, and the title his father currently held as the Earl of Cannington.
Ryder checked his watch. He needed to get on with it if he was to have everything set up before Nathalie arrived.
Today had to be perfect.
His fingers caressed the ring in his pocket. It wasn’t as grand as the one he’d intended to give her, but he’d make it up to her when his father no longer controlled the purse strings. Philip Montague did not consider Nathalie a suitable choice to be the future Countess Cannington and refused Ryder the family diamond promised to his bride.
His father wouldn’t say why—he didn’t have to. Ryder knew why, and it made his blood boil.
Nathalie wasn’t British, she wasn’t from a monied family, and she was only half-white.
Dad can bugger off.
Nathalie was Ryder’s future, and he didn’t give a damn about the subtle racism and overt class snobbery of the peerage. If he could, he’d let Becca inherit his father’s title. His older sister was more invested in maintaining Arborleigh Holdings and their societal status than he was, anyway.
The Herbaceous Border and lawn came into view. Several people already spread out across the neatly trimmed grass, their conversations hushed murmurs. He spotted an open space between two landscaped beds that would afford him and Nathalie some privacy. Lifting the blue and yellow check throw from his shoulder, he sauntered toward his objective.
A flash of dark curls and faded pink in his peripheral vision diverted his gaze to the far end of the border.
Nathalie.
His heart tap-danced in his chest. She was early. He’d told her noon.
The flutter of nerves in his stomach formed into a hard knot. Nathalie’s head was down, shoulders slumped, fingers worrying the material of her sundress.
Something was wrong.