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A few weeks into her first season, Miss Helena Hargreaves—despite her family’s respectable but unremarkable fortune—was, to the astonishment of some, declared a diamond of the first water, a distinction she shared with her twin, Felicity.

It was a coveted title, one that typically belonged to women of greater fortune or nobler birth, but it was bestowed upon Helena nonetheless.

Her striking presence in London’s glittering ballrooms was enough to turn heads and stir whispers among the ton.

The polished marble floors, burnished gold candelabras, and towers of bubbling champagne were a glaring contrast to the quiet, simpler assemblies of Lancashire, where the Hargreaves family had spent their evenings among more familiar faces.

Now, as Helena accepted Mr. William Montgomery as her eager dance partner for a second time, she felt a slight tremble in her hand. To dance more than once with a gentleman—particularly when so many still awaited their turn—was to invite speculation.

Yet it mattered little. The season was meant for husband-hunting, and that was precisely what she intended to do.

Certainly, there was no shortage of eligible bachelors—wealthy, handsome, and charming men, each perfectly suitable for her and her sister. But while Felicity approached marriage with a clear-eyed pragmatism, seeking fortune and status above all else, Helena longed for something far more elusive.

She wanted to fall in love.

“I feel the eyes of many envious gentlemen upon me, Miss Helena,” Mr. Montgomery murmured in her ear as he led her to the dance floor.

Stifling a laugh, Helena cast him a glance through her lashes. “Well, it is terribly unfair that I am dancing with you again.”

He released her hand as he took his place before her, awaiting the music. “All is fair in love and war,” he replied with a discreet wink.

Helena’s heart fluttered.

Among all the gentlemen she had considered, Mr. William Montgomery was swiftly emerging as a leading contender for her affections.

Not only was he classically handsome, but the modern style of cropped hair—now fashionable with the decline of wigs—suited him perfectly.

He was a superb dancer, a man of effortless charm, and an enigmatic conversationalist.

“Then, Mr. Montgomery, I shall be your worthy adversary,” she replied with a teasing smile, and they bowed to one another as the music began.

As a debutante in the London season, Helena was no stranger to the accomplishments expected of a young lady—watercolor, pianoforte, embroidery—skills that were as much a part of her education as her manners. But it was dancing, above all, that stirred her the most.

Luckily for her, her dance card was always full.

She followed Mr. Montgomery’s lead effortlessly, her eyes never leaving his as they exchanged soft, secret smiles.

When he took her hand to turn her, he lingered just a little longer than necessary, giving it a gentle squeeze.

It was perfect, and Helena was almost certain she could fall in love with him.

When the dance ended, she was nearly breathless from the exertion, and like a true gentleman, Mr. Montgomery escorted her to the refreshment table.

“The next dance is still some time away," he said as she took a sip of lemonade, "so do grant me the pleasure of remaining in your company a little longer.”

Helena dipped her head in agreement, her pulse quickening.

By the time she finished her drink, he took the empty glass from her with an inviting grin, his fingers brushing against hers.

Her heart fluttered once more.

“Shall we take a turn around the gardens?” She asked, looping her arm through his. She glanced toward her mother, but Mrs. Margaret Hargreaves was occupied with Felicity. “We shall have to wait for her?—”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Montgomery quipped. “Let her enjoy a moment with your sister. While I have you all to myself, let us admire the Wakefield’s excellent gallery instead.”

“I really do think we should wait for my mother,” Helena protested gently, but her companion only fixed her with a wry lift of his golden brow.

“Miss Helena,” he chided, his tone light but insistent. “The gallery is open for all to enjoy, and we’ll hardly be alone. Surely you wouldn’t deny me the simple pleasure of your company for a few moments?”

Helena bit her lip in thought. Mr. Montgomery had been nothing but a perfect gentleman in the time they had spent together.

He had escorted her on rides through the park, taken her to Gunter’s for ices, and danced with her at several balls.

Why should this be any different? She had even met his mother and sisters.

“I don’t?—”

Mr. Montgomery raised a hand, his face softening as if to reassure her. “Only five minutes. That’s all I ask of you, my dear.”

He was so kind. So handsome. So utterly romantic. How could she possibly deny him five measly minutes?

“Very well,” she relented, her cheeks aflame. “Five minutes, but no longer.”

Placing a hand over his heart, he gave her a solemn nod. “You have my word.”

With an eager spring in his step, Mr. Montgomery led Helena through the wide doors of the bustling ballroom.

Their exit went largely unnoticed amid the steady flow of guests slipping in and out, disappearing down candlelit corridors.

It was the height of the season—spirits ran high, quite literally.

Several guests had already drunk themselves silly, their riotous laughter rising even above the swell of the orchestra.

Though Helena was restricted to lemonade, she felt a giddy warmth in her chest as she followed Mr. Montgomery, their hushed laughter shared between them like a secret.

“Which way is the gallery?” she asked, noticing they had passed the men’s withdrawing room some time ago and had made a few turns since.

“Just down here,” Mr. Montgomery replied, gesturing toward the end of the hallway.

A fleeting shadow of doubt passed over her as she glanced back. The ballroom sounds had faded, and the corridor stretched ahead of them, unfamiliar and strangely quiet. She had never ventured this far into the manor before.

She was on the verge of insisting they return to the ballroom when Mr. Montgomery stopped in front of a grand, old door. “Here we are,” he said, turning the knob with a quiet click.

The door opened with a slow, reluctant creak, revealing the gallery he had promised her.

Yet, to Helena’s surprise, it was far smaller than she had imagined.

The walls, lined with paintings in heavy gold frames, seemed to close in around her.

There was little light except from the faint glow of candles perched on tall sconces, casting eerie shadows on the portraits of long-dead ancestors that stared down from the walls.

A marble bust of an older man with prominent jowls sat at the far end of the room, its eyes stone-cold and unblinking—the only witness.

“This is the gallery?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Yes,” Mr. Montgomery replied smoothly, drawing her inside with a light touch. “Well, one of them.”

“One? Where is the other one?”

“Somewhere near the entrance,” he shrugged. “It’s terribly crowded.”

Helena swallowed hard, trying to temper her surging fear. “But I only agreed to accompany you because you said we wouldn’t be alone.”

His smile faltered slightly, but his grip on her arm tightened. “Yes, but I’ve decided I quite want you alone.”

“I—I… Mr. Montgomery, this isn’t proper.”

“Don’t be so missish, is it so unflattering that I want to be with you?”

Helena stepped back, her pulse rising in panic. “No… But you shouldn’t have deceived me.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before his expression shifted—a glimmer of something dark and hungry. “If I didn’t deceive you, I wouldn’t have been able to do this.”

Before she could react, his arms snaked around her shoulders with terrifying ease, pulling her sharply into him. His mouth crashed onto hers in a wet, hard kiss, his lips parting hers in one cruel motion.

Helena’s stomach lurched as she jerked back, her hands pushing desperately against his chest. “N-no, please.”

His hold tightened as he chuckled darkly. “No? Whatever do you mean?” His voice was almost a sneer now. “Don’t be daft, Miss Helena. Isn’t it obvious? I’m considering marrying you.”

She shoved harder, her palms flat against his chest, but his body was too solid and she too small. She struggled, her desperation mounting. “Obvious? You’re not even courting me.”

“It is sensible to dip a toe in the water before taking the plunge,” he replied, his breath hot against her face.

He loosened his hold on her slightly, but only so that he could slip a hand beneath her bodice and administer a hard squeeze.

Helena yelped in pain, instinctively trying to curl into herself. “Please stop,” she begged but his grip tightened, pressing her closer to him, her body growing weak under the strain. A cold sweat broke out across her brow, her thoughts scrambled—flee, fight, but she couldn't move.

He ran his palm over her nipple and kneaded the heavy flesh rudely. Moaning as he did so. “Yes,” he rasped, as if savoring the moment. “This’ll do.”

“Please stop,” she whispered. She shut her eyes tightly, unwilling to see him—or the vile indignity of what he was doing to her. “Please.”

To her surprise, he released his hold on her, stepping back with a soft chuckle.

“Very well,” he said, smoothly, almost patronizing.

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes shining with wickedness.

“I’ve made up my mind, Miss Helena. I do intend to marry you.

You’ve a fine figure, a pretty face—most pleasing to the eye.

” He paused, smirking as he took in her stunned silence.

“A woman must serve her purpose, after all. And lucky you—I’ve decided you’re worth having. ”