Page 1 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville

Prologue

Ealing, England

1806

Oliver Sharpe, sixteen-year-old heir to the Marquess of Stoneville, left the stables at Halstead Hall with his heart in his throat. His mother had ridden off toward the hunting lodge in a fury, and Oliver rarely saw her like that. Mostly, she was just sad . . . unless something monumental set her off.

Like finding her son acting in the basest fashion imaginable.

Mortification swamped him.

You’re a disgrace to this family!she’d cried in a voice of sickened betrayal.You’re behaving exactly like your father. And I’ll be damned if I let him turn you into the same wicked, selfish creature as he is, sacrificing anyone to his pleasures!

Oliver had never heard his mother curse, and the fact that he’d driven her to do so chilled him. Was she right about him?Washe becoming just like his careless and debauched sire? The very thought made his stomach roil.

Worse yet, she was now riding out to lay his sins at Father’s door, and Oliver couldn’t stop her since she’d ordered him to stay out of her sight.

Butsomeonehad to go after her. The only other time he’d seen her in a rage was when she’d first discovered his father’s infidelity, when Oliver was seven. She’d set fire to Father’s collection of erotic books in the courtyard.

God only knew what damage she would wreak now that she believed her son was following in his father’s footsteps. Especially with the house party in full swing.

As Oliver rounded the walls of the semifortified manor that was their country home, he spotted a familiar carriage coming up the drive, and his heart leaped. Gran! Thank God she’d arrived; Mother might actually listen to her own mother.

Oliver reached the front of the house just as the carriage stopped. Hurrying forward, he opened the door for his grandmother.

“Well, now, isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” she said with a warm smile as she stepped down. “I am glad to see you have not lost your courtly manners like some young rascals your age.”

Normally he’d make a witty retort and he and Gran would spar a little, all in good fun. But he couldn’t manage it today, not with fear riding him.

“Mother is angry with Father.” Offering his arm to escort her to the house, he kept his voice low. The servants mustn’t hear. Half the world already gossiped about Father’s infidelities—no need to feed the sharks more chum.

“That is nothing new, is it?” his grandmother said dryly.

“This time is different. She’s in a rage. She and I quarreled, and she rode off toward the hunting lodge alone.”

“Probably looking for him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. You know how he likes to bait her. If he’s there, she’s liable to do anything.”

“Good.” She flashed him an arch smile. “Perhaps she’ll destroy that wretched lodge. Then Lewis will have nowhere to take his little whores.”

“Blast it, Gran, I’m serious!” When she lifted an eyebrow at his language, he bit back an oath. “Forgive me, but this isn’t like usual. You have to go after her, talk to her, calm her down. It’s important. She won’t listen to me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He colored. “Of course not.”

“Don’t lie to your grandmother. What was your quarrel with your mother about?”

How could he tell her? He cringed every time he thought of it. “It doesn’t matter. Just believe me when I say she needs you.”

Gran snorted. “Your mother hasn’t needed me from the day she was born.”

“But Gran—”

“See here, Oliver,” she said, patting his hand as if he were some child, “I know you’re close to your mother, and it upsets you to see her angry. But if you give her time alone to let her anger run its course, she’ll be fine, I swear.”

“No, you’ve got to—”