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London, April 1814

S etting down her quill, Thea Rockledge went to her door to listen to the voices below. It was unusual for her brother and his friends to return home so early in the morning. They generally arrived closer to noon.

Thea shook her head, reminding herself that there was only one friend now. The rest had scattered years ago. Only Lord Billings remained. Perhaps Stephen’s only true friend, for Stephen had nothing else to offer anyone but friendship.

Only a year younger than Thea, Stephen had become Viscount Percival at the unfortunate age of six and ten. When he lacked the responsibility and skills necessary to continue the title’s success as her father had.

In the ten years since, she’d watched as her brother spent all their money—including her dowry—before turning to selling off anything else he could to cover his gambling debts. There was nearly nothing left.

Their home in Mayfair was in disrepair. Any furnishings of value had been sold by her brother or stolen by the fleeing servants as payment. Only two maids remained and they were paid directly from Thea and were told to tell her brother they stayed on for room and board alone.

Her brother didn’t even keep ledgers on the properties any longer for there were no funds coming in from the country estates. Nothing had been invested to plant anything and their tenants had all moved on to greener pastures, quite literally.

The country homes were rented out to gentry, but lately their rent had been used to maintain their homes instead of providing income to the viscount.

Thea thought when they were completely out of funds it would force Stephen to stop gambling, but she’d been very wrong.

Peeking over the railing into the foyer she saw two large men rather than Stephen and Billings.

“Look at this place. There be nothing here o’value, it’s already been ravaged.” The man kicked a broken clock with his scuffed boot. That clock had belonged to her mother. Thea had broken it herself so it might be spared, but now it was too late for the clock. Too late for everything.

“Flint, won’t be happy if we come back empty-handed. Should we check upstairs?”

Thea backed away into the shadows, so not to be seen.

“No bother. Men like ’im would’a purged the upper floors first and kept the receiving rooms pretty for appearances. There won’t be anythin’ upstairs.”

Despite the man’s rough speech, he wasn’t wrong. That was exactly how Stephen had managed his debt. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d sold off his very bed and slept on the floor if it would offer another night of entertainment.

Thea kept her rooms locked at all times, but she’d come home to find the locks broken once or twice. A crystal inkpot had been taken along with her best dress. Fortunately, she didn’t have any funds in her room. She had learned that lesson early on.

“We should go tell Flint. ’e’ll probably want us to come back ’ere later to hand out a beatin’.”

Another beating. Thea’s stomach twisted uncomfortably with the memories of the last two she’d tended. When she’d begged Stephen for the final time to stop this.

He’d cried as he had when he’d been a boy. He’d promised her that was the end of it, but he wasn’t strong enough to keep that promise, or perhaps it was that his sickness was more powerful than a mere mortal could defend against.

She realized afterward, when he’d returned to pawn more of their goods while still bearing the bruises, that her brother was beyond promises. He was not in possession of himself.

Much like a drunkard sought out his next drink, Stephen could not turn away from the thrill of the tables. It was no longer something he did to pass the time, or an innocent amusement, but it had become a dire need that controlled him and lured him to the worst of gaming hells as his credit was denied at the more reputable establishments.

He was completely lost to it. And as with anyone suffering the loss of their will to something, it changed the way a person saw things. And provided justification for things they previously would have thought reprehensible.

Soon after the men left, Stephen and Billings returned.

“It doesn’t look like they took anything,” Stephen said, kicking the same clock. She wondered if he even remembered the significance of it. The memories it held.

Billings sniffed. “You’ve got nothing left for them to take.”

“That’s not entirely true. There’s one thing here that still might have enough value to get me out of this business with Flint.”

Thea didn’t know what he was speaking of. She didn’t keep her funds in the house so there was no danger of Stephen finding them.

“Stephen, no. Surely, there must be some other way,” Lord Billings said, as if recalling a conversation they’d had before arriving home. “The last time Flint threatened you, we were able to run off to Cawdor Castle. Perhaps we could hide out in Scotland as we did the last time and wait until it blows over. Flemming’s dower cottage made for a comfortable enough hideout.”

“You think Flint will just forget I owe him ten thousand pounds?”

Ten thousand pounds? Thea clenched her hands into fists. Who had allowed him to borrow such a sum? Anyone with half a mind would know Stephen didn’t have that kind of money. In fact, he had no money at all. He’d already gambled everything away.

And the last time they’d run off to Scotland, Flint hadn’t simply forgotten the debt. Thea had seen it paid with her own money. But ten thousand pounds …? She didn’t have that much. At least not until her next book was finished and sold. And even then, she might not make enough to cover it.

Her books had been picking up in sales, but she couldn’t ever be certain when interest would sway to another publication. Writing was a fickle beast.

If there were some guarantee it would be the last time he would rack up such debt and he would stop gambling, she might have found a way, but she feared there was no hope for her brother.

“We can’t go to Scotland. I suggested it to Flemming and he said he needs to stay in London for the rest of the Season. Cawdor Castle is closed up until he returns. Besides, I don’t fancy a trip all the way to Inverness.”

“I imagine he’s not pleased with you after what happened last time with his maid. But still, a long trip to Scotland would be better than a short trip to a grave. Which is what you’ll face if you don’t come up with the blunt.”

“I told you. I know how to get it.” He let out a resigned sigh.

“But Thea… She’s your sister.”

“She’s a spinster who spends all her time hiding in her room writing letters to people she never visits. She’s been nothing but a burden. If I could marry her off to someone with a fortune, I would, but she has never come out. And there is nothing for a dowry. No one will want such an aged oddity.”

She frowned. At seven and twenty, she was aged. And, yes, she did spend all her time in her room writing, but it wasn’t letters or journals that took up her time. She was a novelist and a fairly popular one at that.

Using a male pseudonym, she had collected a fair sum in payment for her nine novels published in the last eight years. And her newest manuscript was due in a matter of months. She had a deadline looming, but now she worried she would never have a chance to finish the book at all, let alone by the date she’d promised.

Who did her brother plan to marry her off to? She pictured the thugs who’d been in their house earlier and shivered.

“Flint has said he will take her off your hands to clear your debt?”

“He wants to see her first, to make sure he can make the sum back.”

Thea stifled a gasp. She’d misunderstood and somehow it was even worse. There would be no marriage. She was to be sold.

“He doesn’t plan to marry her?” Billings said. Thea wondered if the man was really so na?ve. But then he’d shown his lack of intelligence in whom he chose to befriend. For she didn’t think there was a man more worthless than her brother.

“No. But her virtue will be worth a pretty penny. I’ll have to get her a proper dress, and lord only knows how I’ll get the ink stains cleaned from her fingers.”

“How will you get her to agree? She’s not just going to go off willingly for such a thing.”

“I’ll slip a hefty dose of laudanum into her food at dinner.”

Thea realized then her sweet, fun-loving brother was completely gone. The grief hit as if she’d just gotten word he’d died. In many ways, he had. But instead of one single shock of death. Stephen had been slipping away for many years.

She backed away and rushed silently to her rooms. She hadn’t even closed the door before she started to formulate a plan. She would go to the MacLains’ home. The couple had been servants at Percival House before her brother let the staff go.

Thea had hired them herself to see to things she could not. She’d funded their son, Robert’s, education and now the young man was Thea’s solicitor. The MacLains took care of business for her. Delivering her manuscripts to her publisher and securing her accounts.

Thanks to her having to pay off Stephen’s debts last year, she didn’t have enough to purchase a home yet, but perhaps with the sale of her newest book she could.

Packing as quickly and quietly as she could, she took the back stairs and went out the servants’ entrance without meeting up with her brother. Rather than take a hansom cab, she walked, staying off the main streets where her brother might see her if he’d already come looking for her. She wanted to be sure there was no way her brother could track her to the MacLains’ home.

She knocked on the back door of the MacLains’ tidy house she’d purchased for them with the proceeds of her first book. Mr. MacLain opened the door with a smile.

“Have you finished it already, lass?” he asked as his gaze dropped to the bags in her grasp. Her arms trembled from carrying them all this way. She’d left so much behind, but she had a few changes of clothes and all her writing supplies and manuscripts. They were the most valuable to her.

“No. I’m so sorry to have come here. But I desperately need your help.”

As she’d rushed from Percival House, she’d started devising the next step of her plan.

She couldn’t stay in London. Her brother was desperate and wouldn’t stop until he found her. She needed to leave as soon as was possible. She needed to go far away where her brother could not find her. She had the money to rent a place, but not many reputable people would rent to a single woman. Mr. MacLain could do it, but Mrs. MacLain was not in the best of health. Robert had a business to run, and wouldn’t be able to leave London at such short notice.

They would, however, be able to secure a carriage to take her where she needed to go. But where?

“Whatever ye need, lass. You know we’ll help,” Mr. MacLain said in his Scottish brogue. It gave her an idea.

Scotland.

She’d never been there as the Percivals had no holding there. But she knew someone who lived there. Or rather she didn’t know him, for they’d never met. But she knew Lord Flemming had a dower house that would be vacant for the rest of the Season. That would give her enough time to finish her book and come up with a long-term plan.

“I need to procure a carriage to take me to Cawdor Castle, in Scotland. And I need to leave immediately.”

A few hours later, having made her escape from London, she was on her way north. To freedom.