Chapter One

January 1818

London, England

Lady Christiana Barrett

Christiana faced her younger brother and tried to swallow her fear, to replace it with anger. “No, Reuben. I can’t. You won’t make me do something so distasteful to me. You couldn’t be so cruel.”

“You will marry him.” Lord Millstead pounded his desk. His face was red and sweat stood out on his brow. “You must. I signed the marriage articles this morning. You are now betrothed to Lord Skeffington. My felicitations. It is a signal honor for a marquess to ask for your hand.”

“I can’t accept his offer. Every encounter I have had with the man has been objectionable. His manners are extremely forward and disrespectful. In fact, I feel ill every time I’m in his presence.”

“Isn’t that just like a woman to be so irrational? I realize his manner is . . . commanding and a little severe. But those are things you will grow accustomed to in time. I tell you, he is a good fellow.”

She reached out a shaking hand. “I am not irrational, but I am a woman. You must allow that I know more about how Lord Skeffington treats women than you ever will. Reuben, he is not a good fellow. Not to women. And you, and all of London, know he is not.”

He looked down his nose at her. “You refer to the baseless gossip that has been floating around town for the last few months. It is utter nonsense, the veriest slander. No one was present when Skeffington’s wife died, and yet they spread malicious rumors, maligning his noble name, sowing seeds of doubt about his good character.”

“I have seen no evidence of good character, Reuben. I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. I trust him, and it is my responsibility to arrange for your future. You don’t know the man. Why, Skeffington told me all about the night his late wife died. It was just an unfortunate accident. She had one of her fits, and in the middle of the night, she became confused. He tried to stop her falling from the balcony, but she slipped from his grip.”

He lifted a finger in the face of her disbelief. “Remember, my dear, the courts exonerated him of all blame. That should stop all those wagging tongues, but they delight in anything that has the least hint of the sensational instead of pitying him as they should. He is quite cut up about her death.”

Christiana’s dread sat heavy in her stomach. Her brother would not listen to her, but she kept trying. “So cut up he offers for me now, not even six months later.”

 “That is nothing. You know a less restrictive mourning period is common for a man.”

“If he has children, it is.” She lifted her hand. “Reuben, let’s not waste time discussing the disparity of the requirements for men and women during mourning. It is more than that.”

“Are you hoping for love?” He laughed derisively. “Don’t let your sentiments overcome your reason. You must depend upon me to know what is best for you. You are twenty-years old. It is past time you were wed.”

“That’s not fair. I have been at Millstead in mourning for Papa for the last year. I am not unwilling to marry. But not to Lord Skeffington. I would be happier with almost any other man.”

He ignored her with a supercilious sniff. “As to the financial agreements, since the allowance you receive from your own inheritance will continue even after you marry, that will cover all your pin money needs.”

Christiana closed her eyes in exasperation. Their father’s will was a constant thorn in Reuben’s side, so she wasn’t surprised he’d brought it up again. He worried it like a dog with a bone. “Next year when you turn twenty-one, you will receive full ownership and control of that part of his estate he denied me, his first-born son—”

She stopped listening. Millstead, the entailed portion of their father’s holdings, was an enormous estate, and very lucrative, but Reuben hated the provisions her father had made for her, the daughter of his first wife. He wanted Templeton as well.”

Her attention returned to him when he said, “Regardless, it was decided you didn’t need additional funds from Skeffington’s estate.”

Her half-brother said, ‘it was decided,’ as if he wasn’t present and active in making that decision.

 “And if Skeffington dies, you will continue to collect your own income. Therefore, Skeffington’s entire estate will devolve to your son, should you have one. You don’t need a dower.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That is the contract you negotiated with the man you wish me to marry? Why would you do that? Why would I accept such an insulting offer?”

“Come now, Christiana. You are not, nor ever will you be, destitute and thrust out on the streets. I saw no need to insist Skeffington add to your riches.”

Christiana studied him, seeing the underlying vengeful pleasure beneath his rational manner. “And what do you receive for your part in this travesty of a marriage contract?” she asked.

“That’s not—How dare you suggest—” he sputtered.

She folded her arms and tapped her foot, but before he gathered his composure, there was a light knock on his study door.

“Come,” Reuben called.

Hillyard, the butler, stepped in. He carried a silver tray with a single calling card on it. “Sir, Lord Skeffington has arrived to take Lady Barrett for a drive. I invited him to wait in the drawing room.”

Christiana turned her head and met her brother’s triumphant smile with a glare. “I won’t see him.”

He came around the desk and took her arm in a tight grip. “Yes. You will. It will do you no good to argue. What Skeffington wants, he will get eventually. He’s not the type to walk away.” He opened his study door. “Come Christiana, you don’t want to keep your betrothed waiting.”

She tried to flee, but Reuben kept a firm hold until they entered the drawing room. He closed the door and released her, but he remained to block that escape. She turned and saw Skeffington, standing in front of the door to the dining room. She was trapped.

With a satisfied smile, Lord Skeffington strode forward and took her hand. He held tightly when she tried to wrench it away. His dark eyes flashed, and his smile grew. Her struggle seemed to excite him. “My dear, Lady Barrett. Christiana. I may call you now that you will soon be mine.” He didn’t ask but stated it as his right.

He lifted her hand to his lips, pulled back her glove, and placed a lingering kiss on her wrist.

She shivered and finally twisted her hand out of his hold.

He chuckled. “So spirited,” he murmured.

Christiana moved to put the sofa between them.

She had heard other women describe Lord Skeffington as handsome, but she thought his raven hair and long side whiskers emphasized his hard mouth and cold, calculating dark eyes. He wasn’t an overly tall man, but he looked down his straight aristocratic nose in such a way that he seemed to loom above her.

For months he had accosted her at every party, his hands always, seemingly by chance, sliding where they ought not. At the last ball she attended, he had pulled her into a deserted, dark corner and pushed her against the wall, trapping her with his body. In a fortunate accident, she had stepped on his foot. His pained surprise allowed her to wrench herself out of his embrace and run. But his disdainful laugh had followed her down the hall and haunted her dreams for the last week.

She swallowed. “My lord, I thank you for the honor you do me, but I must decline your generous offer.”

To her surprise both Skeffington and her brother burst into laughter.

“Reuben came forward and clapped the dark man on his back. “Ignore her fit of the vapors, Skeff. She’ll do as she’s bid.”

Then her brother turned stormy eyes to her. “I told you, Christiana, you will marry Lord Skeffington. All the legal documents have been signed. In three weeks, you will take your place at his side.

Then Reuben addressed Lord Skeffington. “I still say you should get a special license. Let’s get the deed done and finish this business.”

Didn’t her brother see the contempt in Skeffington’s eyes? The dark man’s low-pitched chuckle came from deep in his chest. “Why bother? I can afford to give your sister time to grow accustomed to my attentions.”

They spoke as if she wasn’t there, and every moment in Lord Skeffington’s presence, Christiana felt herself shrink further into herself. Smaller, demeaned, degraded. And terrified.

She cast a glance at the door behind him. Could she make it there before he—

Too late. Skeffington slipped around the sofa, took her elbow, and propelled her forward. “I’ll bid you good day, Millstead. We must be on our way.” He jerked his head up, and Reuben stepped out of his way. “Don’t look for our early return,” he added with a laughing look.

The man she was suddenly and unwillingly betrothed to led her out the door and down the steps of their London townhouse. She struggled, and he laughed with pleasure. It sent shivers down her spine.

“My dear,” he purred, “let me help you into my phaeton.

He didn’t wait for her response but put his hands around her waist, lifted her, and tipped her onto the seat. While she teetered dangerously, he climbed up beside her and put his arm around her shoulder as if to steady her. When she pulled away from him, his hand stroked across the back of her neck.

“I would prefer to—”

He gave no sign of hearing her as he slapped the reins. The horses sprang forward, and she grasped the seat to keep from tumbling out.

A terrible feeling of impending danger swamped her. Her feelings were confirmed when Lord Skeffington turned east on Brook Street in the opposite direction from Hyde Park. “Where are you taking me?” Quickly, she tacked on, “my lord.”

His predatory smile increased her terror. “I am sure you would like to see the home you will be coming to in three weeks’ time. We’ll go there now—so you will know what to expect when we marry.”

Panic almost overtook her. The tone of his voice, the look in his eye assured her she would not be safe in his home. She must get away, but how? Her heart raced, and her breath hitched in rapid pants. She stared ahead blindly, trying to think. There must be something she could do.

If she did manage to escape and returned to the Millstead townhouse, Reuben would just give her back into Skeffington’s keeping. A hotel? But she had no money with her. When Reuben received the account, he would know where she was.

In a sudden flash, the germ of an idea occurred to her. Her aunt and godmother, the duchess of Rushcliffe had a townhouse in nearby Berkeley Square. Christiana had not received word of her arrival in London yet, but she might be in residence this close to the beginning of the season. If not, surely her servants would be there opening the house. They knew her well and might give a temporary sanctuary and time to a plan her next step. But first Christiana had to get there.

She tried to moderate her breathing. “Will you slow down, please, my lord.”

“Certainly, my dear. Of course, you want to savor the anticipation.” He chuckled when she flinched, but he pulled back on the reins.

They were nearing Grosvenor Square when she conceived a perilous plan.

The traffic on Brook Street was quite heavy for that time in the afternoon. She swiveled in her seat to look behind them.

“Are you scheming, my pet?” Lord Skeffington purred. “I have learned my lesson and will stay away from your dangerous feet. And there is nowhere for you to run.

The carriage in front of them slowed while he still watched her. Christiana gasped and pointed. To her relief, Skeffington’s attention returned to his driving, and he slowed even more. She let out a relieved breath. It seemed more likely she would survive her desperate scheme if he weren’t barreling along at a clipping pace.

Again, she twisted to look back and waited until the carriage behind them came closer. Then quickly, so he couldn’t stop her, she leaned forward, grasped the reins in front of his hands and pulled as hard as she could. The two horses squealed and bucked. Lord Skeffington swore, but before he regained control, Christiana jumped from the carriage.