Page 1

CHAPTER 1

“Stop!” Yvette’s voice rang out across the misty field, trembling yet commanding, her hand pressed tightly against her chest as she struggled to steady her breath.

The cold morning air burned her lungs, and her fingers stung from gripping the reins during her reckless ride through the night.

She squinted into the darkness, just barely able to make out the two figures standing opposite each other—both of them with their pistols raised, ready to fire.

Even in the darkness, she recognized one of them immediately.

“Yvette? What are you doing here?” Edward’s voice was sharp with disbelief, his head turning sharply toward her as she approached.

Reckless Edward.

Of course, her older brother would drag himself into something as ludicrous as a duel at this hour.

His shock was clear, but Yvette ignored him, her boots sinking slightly into the damp ground as she lifted the hem of her dress, determination radiating from her every step.

She marched straight between the two men, her pulse pounding in her ears, but she refused to look at her brother.

Instead, her eyes locked onto the other man—the Duke of Braemore.

“This is madness!” she declared, her words aimed squarely at the duke.

Yvette had never met the duke before, but his reputation had preceded him; she’d heard him whispered about in the halls of St. Catherine’s Nunnery. She had imagined what he might look like, but the man standing before her was even more striking than she’d imagined.

He was dressed entirely in black, the long tails of his coat catching the cold wind. His dark hair, a shade of deep auburn, was slightly tousled and it looked as though he’d raked his hands through it one too many times—an unconscious habit shared by her fool of a brother.

The duke’s broad shoulders and towering height were as intimidating as the pistol he held with ease. His beard framed a face that she imagined, underneath the hair, was unbearably smooth.

Yvette gulped, her stomach fluttering in a way that frustrated her.

Focus,she told herself, a reminder that she had come for something entirely different.

The duke’s frown deepened instantly, a furrow forming between his dark brows as he slowly, and reluctantly, lowered his pistol. His sharp gaze locked onto her, assessing, scrutinizing.

“This is a matter of honor that does not concern ye, my lady,” he said, his deep voice laced with a Scottish accent so thick it sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

His words, rough and gravelly, held the weight of someone accustomed to being in command.

“Step aside,” he added.

Yvette inhaled deeply, willing her frantically beating heart to calm itself. The defiance in her eyes flared brighter as she stood her ground.

“I shall not,” she replied, her voice steady despite her fear.

The journey to the field had been perilous—sneaking out of the nunnery, riding alone across desolate roads on horseback—but she hadn’t come this far to let the duke kill her brother.

Edward groaned audibly behind her. “What in the devil are you doing, Yvette? Get out of the way!”

Ignoring her brother’s protest, Yvette stared up at the duke, refusing to waver. The icy wind nipped at her cheeks, but her resolve burned like fire.

“Yvette, I mean it! You’ve no business here!” Edward stepped forward, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.

She shook him off sharply, spinning to glare at him with fire in her eyes.

“And you have no sense, Edward!” she snapped. “Did you think I would allow you to get yourself killed?”

“Yvette!” Edward shot back, his tone showing his annoyance. “You know nothing of this matter?—”