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Prologue

“’Ere we are then, miss.”

Thunder boomed in the distance, punctuating the hackney driver’s words as he rolled to a stop in the fashionable London neighborhood.

At least, glancing around at the grand manses looming in the moonlight on the relatively wide, tree-lined street, Kitty supposed it was fashionable.

Perhaps a better term would be monied, or of the upper-crust.

She hadn’t much to compare it to as she’d only travelled to London once in her adult life.

A mere two years before, it may as well have been a lifetime ago.

Her previous visit to London entailed seemingly endless, sunny days that passed in a blur of shopping—for gowns, gloves, hats, and slippers, all for a season that never transpired.

If only Grandfather had accompanied her on that occasion. Of a certainly, he would have introduced her to his most trusted friend. Instead, here she sat, alone, penniless, with the meager breakfast she’d ingested at dawn long gone from her belly, and soon to introduce herself to an earl.

Lightning flashed, illuminating thick, low hanging clouds. Another rumble of thunder followed, seeming to rattle her very bones.

“You’re certain this is my stop?” She hated the telltale quaver in her voice. She was stalling, and based on the dubious expression on the driver’s face as he eyed her over his shoulder, he knew it as well as she.

She couldn’t blame him. He’d had his doubts about her from the moment she leapt out of the darkness to hail him as he approached his cab behind the lonely inn.

Alarm had squeezed an odorous belch out of him, confirming her suspicion he’d come from the pub.

By all appearances, he had not been happy to see her.

But in her defense, she’d been hiding amongst the trees for hours after having spotted the hackney, and could no longer feel her toes thanks to the damp chill. She wasn’t about to let him disappear.

To that end, she crawled in his cab, quick as you please, recited the address consigned to memory and huddled into a corner of the worn bench.

The driver’s hearty cackle threatened to fray her very last nerve.

Evidently he found her mud-splattered, rumpled black lace gown and over-all disheveled appearance incongruous with her destination.

He stopped laughing when she fixed him with a glare and thrust her mother’s pearl earrings at him as payment for the fare.

Now he pointed to the marquee swinging in the gusting wind above the tall, spiked iron gate announcing for all and sundry this was number 2 Groves Street, Claybourne Manor.

Stiffening her spine, she stepped from the cab.

No sooner had her aching feet touched the cobblestone street than the driver urged his horse forward. He departed without a backward glance.

Kitty shivered—with dread or cold, she really couldn’t say. Her bones had long since turned to ice, true, but she also stood in darkness, outside a stranger’s home, nothing but her word to recommend her. What if he refused to see her? What if he refused to help?

A frigid raindrop landed on her netted cap with a splat. She almost laughed despite herself. It was the impetus she needed. Lifting her chin, she swung open the gate and marched up the walk.

The skies opened, soaking her as she mounted the steps to the imposing front doors, as if mocking her show of bravery. As if daring her to give up.

Well, she would not. She’d come too far, and besides, she didn’t have a lot of options.

She pressed in under the eave, adjusting the dripping netting of her cap, and lifted the heavy brass knocker.

After seconds that felt like an eternity, the thick wooden door opened on silent oiled hinges.

A gray haired man, dressed in formal butler attire eyed her from head to toe.

He did not look impressed. She read his intent to close the door in her face and forestalled him, using her most authoritative tone.

“Lady Maidstone to see the Earl of Claybourne on an urgent matter, sir, if you please.” Her heart hammered in her chest as she stared at the servant through the dotted gauze, willing him to invite her in.

Behind her the rain fell in deafening sheets.

Without a word, the butler closed the door in her face.

She blinked. Turned on the stoop and stared out at rain, so cold it should be snow. Oh, Grandfather, what am I to do now?

She waited, but no reply came.

Well, what had she expected? Her grandfather, the eighth Baron of Maidstone, had died a little less than two months ago, and as many times as she’d begged him for advice since, he’d yet to answer.

He was gone, as was her brother Collin, and her parents before him.

She was well and truly on her own, not to mention frozen, hungry, totally without resources, and now, soaking wet.

The rain lessened to a drizzle, as if coaxing her from beneath the sheltering eave, and her mouth curved in a wry grin. She stepped forward, and, pulling back the mourning netting of her cap, turned her face up to the mist.

She didn’t need to ask anyone for guidance.

She knew what to do. She straightened, approached the door once again, hands fisted at her sides.

She’d come too far, faced heretofore unimaginable dangers, first at home under the so-called guardianship of her cousin, Garrick, then two days on the road to London escaping the monster, to give up now.

By God, she would see the earl or they’d have to call the Yard to cart her away.

She lifted her hand, intent on taking the brass knocker again and banging with all her might.

Before she could grasp it, however, the door swung open wide.

She sucked in a breath, cowed despite herself. The man she faced now was no butler. He was a very tall, broad shouldered man, impeccably dressed, with a shock of white hair, a lean, square jaw, and keen blue eyes. The Earl of Claybourne, she presumed.

Now that she had his attention, she realized, she hadn’t worked out quite what to say. How to convince him she was who she claimed, that she needed aid, and more to the point, needed him to provide it. “My lord,” she said, and dipped a low curtsy. “I’m Lady—”

Before she could finish introducing herself, the man gripped her upper arm, holding her steady, and flipped up the netting of her cap to study her face.

After the briefest moment, he nodded in evident satisfaction and folded the material back down. “Can’t disguise those tiger eyes, m’dear.”

Tiger eyes? Oh, dear. Had her grandfather’s friend lost his mind? “Excuse—”

He shushed her with a quick grunt, gave the front perimeter of Claybourne Manor a quick scan, then dragged her into the blessed warmth of the foyer. “Let’s get you inside before anyone sees. I’ve been expecting you.”