Chapter 1

London, 1821

"I forbade you to write that book."

The petite redhead stood to confront her husband. "I do not take orders from you."

Bertram Merlot, the Earl of Brentwood, scowled at his wife and marched across the study. He stopped short when the Great Dane beside her growled.

"Good boy, Horatio." Dementia patted her dog's head and gave her husband a challenging smile. "Well, Bertie---"

***********************************************************

Regina Bradford, the Countess of Langley, lifted her gaze from the paper. Tapping the quill against her lips, she let the warm breeze from the open window glide across her face.

A solitary bird serenaded the world from a branch in the silver birch tree. The perfume of roses, bluebells, and iris wafted into the study and mingled with the scent of ink.

After dipping her quill in the ink, Regina resumed writing. The quill scratched across the paper, an oddly comforting sound, more soothing than rhythmic pattering of rain against a window. Lying beside her chair, a Great Dane snored and twitched in sleep.

Regina stared out the window again. The singing bird winged away from the silver birch tree and glided through the air past her window.

A yearning swelled within her. Regina longed to soar like an eagle, a hawk, or a merlin. She would settle for the smaller wings of a wren, a dove, or a sparrow. Even a butterfly. Whenever she felt trapped, she could fly away to freedom.

"Are you writing again?"

Regina ignored her husband's question, but a spark of irritation flickered to life inside her. The Great Dane lifted its head and growled low in its throat, bringing a smile to her lips.

"I forbade you to write that book."

Regina stared at what she had written. Apparently, she was writing what she knew.

"We have had this conversation a hundred times." Regina stood to confront her husband. "I do not take orders from you, Chuck."

"Do not call me that," Charles Bradford ordered. "I dislike nicknames."

"Yes, I know. Chuck."

The Earl of Langley marched across the study toward his wife. He stopped short when the Great Dane sat up and growled again.

"Good boy, Hamlet." Regina stroked her dog's head and gave her husband a challenging smile. "I'll shoot that dog some day," Charles said.

"You will be signing your own death warrant," Regina said, her tone and expression pleasant.

Anger mottled her husband's complexion. "Are you threatening me?"

"Take it as you like it."

"I don't like it at all with you," Charles said. "That grotesque mane of red curls gives you a clownish appearance."

"I know you prefer blondes, especially named Adele," Regina said. "And I thank the Lord every night for His blessing."

Charles ignored her insult. "Be prepared to leave in the morning for the Duke of Inverary's estate. Remember, mingle with the other guests but do not argue with your betters."

"I told you I would not accompany you to the duke's," she reminded him.

"I cannot attend His Grace's party without my wife," he said. "Besides, I have already accepted for both of us."

Regina felt her irritation growing. Why did his wishes hold more importance than hers? She loathed venturing into society, where she was an unwelcome intruder.

"Once we arrive," Regina complained, "you and your mistress will disappear, and I will be alone for four days. I prefer staying home with my son."

"Your inability to conduct yourself properly in society does concern me," Charles said. "People will tolerate your presence if you keep your thoughts to yourself."

Regina felt like screaming, her irritation mixing with angry frustration. Not surprisingly, her husband refused to understand her feelings.

"I am not going anywhere."

"You will accompany me," he threatened, stepping closer, "or you will be sorry."

The Great Dane's growls drew their attention. Hamlet stood beside his mistress and bared his fangs.

Regina placed her hand on the dog's head. "Slowly back away, or you will be the sorry one."

Charles inched backwards, his gaze never leaving the dog. "Wipe the damn drool."

Regina looked at Hamlet. Great globs of drool flowed from both sides of his muzzle. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and crouched beside the dog to wipe the drool.

Then she stood and faced her husband. "Very well, I'll bring my writing."

"My wife will not publish a book."

Regina smiled sweetly, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. "One word to Hamlet, and your widow will be publishing a book."

"Are you threatening me again?" Charles stepped forward, glanced at the dog, and thought better of it.

"You married a wealthy merchant's daughter for money," Regina said. "My father forced me to the altar to secure a title for the family. Now I intend to get what I want."

"Which is?"

"Independence."

Her husband laughed without humor. He walked toward the door where Louis, his valet, waited for him.

"Charles?"

He turned around. "What?"

"If Hamlet dies before old age," Regina warned, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, "you will soon follow him into the hereafter."

Depleted of energy, Regina dropped into the chair and stared out the window. She hated Charles Bradford and others of his ilk, high society and low morals.

She had married the earl to please her father. Another futile attempt to win his love. Her father blamed her for not being the son he wanted.

"Just like your mother," her father would say before shaking his head in disapproval.

If he felt that way about her mother, why had he married her? Or had he been unable to forgive her for dying without giving him a son?

In her mind's eye, Regina conjured her mother's image, a woman she had known only from a portrait. Riotous red curls, like her own. Green eyes sparkling with humor, like her own. Ambiguous smile on full lips, like her own.

She wished her mother had lived. Life would have been different.

Two birds flew past the open window. She had never felt like soaring more than she did at this moment.

"Reggie?"

She looked over her shoulder.

Ginger Evans stood there, a worried expression on her face.

Regina did not know how she would have survived if the other woman had not agreed to live there after the death of her father. More like sisters than friends, the two women had known each other since childhood.

"You heard our latest argument?" Regina asked.

Ginger nodded and stroked the Great Dane's head. Hamlet returned the affection by licking her hand.

"Louis won't forget you insulted His Lordship," Ginger said.

"What can my husband's valet do to me?"

Ginger shrugged, always more cautious than her friend. "I will take good care of Austen and Hamlet while you are gone."

"Are the household accounts finished?" Regina asked.

"Completed and balanced," Ginger answered, her pride in her mathematical abilities apparent. Like her late-father, she was a genius with numbers."

"Did you manage to squirrel anything away for our escape fund?"

"We don't need to do that anymore," Ginger said. "Our distillery investments are producing incredible profits. I took part of our gin profits and invested in Kazanov brothers vodka and Campbell whisky. I needed to use a business agent, of course."

"Is there any risk?"

"I diversified our investments. If one fails, we don't lose everything." Ginger smiled at her friend. "Do you believe our fellow Englishmen will suddenly find temperance more attractive than drunkeness?"

"More people drink ale and beer," Regina said, her thoughts on increasing their profits.

"I am investigating other possibilities."

"I'm glad you agreed to live here when your father---" Regina paused for a fraction of a moment. "---when your father passed away."

"My father did not commit suicide. Someone murdered him."

"I believe you," Regina said. "I sent a note to that constable and asked him to call upon me the day after tomorrow. I didn't want Charles around."

"Thank you, Reggie. I don't know who would hurt my father," Ginger said, "but he would never have done that." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I want him buried in hallowed ground."

"Persuade Amadeus Black to investigate further."

"My lady?" The Bradford majordomo stood in the doorway.

"Yes, Pickles?"

"Your father is waiting in the drawing room."

Regina rolled her eyes and grimaced. She did not want another argument today.

"Your sentiments match mine," Pickles drawled, making the women smile.

"Tell my father I will be along shortly."

"Yes, my lady."

"You must admit Reginald has been less critical since Austen arrived," Ginger said. "He only wants to visit his grandson."

"I wish he would visit from a distance."

Ginger smiled. "You can't have everything."

"Given a choice," Regina said, "I prefer my father to blonde hair."

Damn her. She had gone too far this time.

Prince Viktor Kazanov climbed the stairs to his wife's bedchamber and fought to control his fury. If he failed to suppress his anger, he would probably strangle her. Going to the gallows for murdering his wife meant his daughter would be orphaned, and he would not allow that to happen.

Viktor paused outside the bedchamber, his black gaze fixing on the closed portal. Willing his temper to cool, he counted to one hundred and then added another hundred for good measure.

After taking a deep breath, Viktor barged into the bedchamber and slammed the door shut. The heady scent of gardenia, her favorite perfume, hit him with the force of a slap. His wife was preening in front of the cheval mirror, unable to part with her own image. She was a beauty---blonde hair, blue eyes, long legs---but so too were the most venomous snakes.

"I prefer you knock before entering," Adele said, watching him in the mirror.

"I do not give a damn what you prefer." Viktor closed the distance between them.

Adele ignored him. She held an emerald and diamond choker in one hand and several long ropes of pearls in the other. Holding the priceless choker against her bosom, Adele studied her reflection and then did the same with the pearls.

"What do you think?" Adele asked, her gaze meeting his in the mirror. She turned to face him. "I was thinking the green emeralds seem more in keeping with a country house party. You know, all that springtime green landscape."

"We are not leaving until tomorrow. Why are you packing now?"

"I am preparing, not packing."

"That gown is cut too low for a country house party," Viktor said, inspecting her. "Or are you planning to wet-nurse your lover of the moment?"

"You are crude."

"And you are an embarrassment." His tone mirrored his scorn. "How dare you wangle an invitation for your lover."

"Are you jealous?" Adele arched a brow at him. "Really, Viktor, you haven't reached for me in four years."

"I prefer a cup that has not been passed around the tavern."

Adele reached to slap him, but Viktor grabbed her wrist. "Do not provoke me to rash action."

"Spare me your empty threats," Adele sneered.

"Revoke Bradford's invitation," Viktor ordered. "I do not want you whoring in front of my family."

"Enjoying a liaison is not whoring," Adele told him. "Charles's wife will be accompanying him. Why don't you try her? The prince and the merchant's daughter coupling in the woods. What irony that would be."

"You disgust me."

"That is your problem.

"I want us to take Sally away for the summer," Viktor said, knowing his suggestion would be rejected. "We could summer in the Cotswalds or take her to Scotland. Maybe even Paris."

Adele stared at him for a long moment. "I think not. Besides, why would you pass the summer with a woman you despise?"

"Sally needs her mother," Viktor said. "You have scarcely glanced in her direction since her birth. Five years ago."

Adele gave him a feline smile. "My daughter will understand when she's older."

Viktor raised his brows at her. "What do you mean by that?"

"I was pregnant when we married," Adele answered. "Perhaps Sally isn't yours."

"Liar. You would never have done anything to ruin your chances of marrying a prince, and saying otherwise could harm our daughter." Viktor shoved his hands in his trouser pockets to keep from shaking some sense into her. "I would kill you, Adele, but you are not worth the trip to the gallows."

"You are hardly celibate," she said. "I've heard naughty rumors about you and Vanessa Stanton."

"We have an agreement," Viktor admitted. "Which was made after your lovers crowded our marriage bed."

Adele shrugged. "I am a lady who likes variety."

"You are no lady." Viktor lifted her left hand, slipped the jeweled wedding ring off her finger, and pocketed it. "I do not want you wearing a token of my former love while you service men."

His insult hit its mark. "I do not service men."

"What do you call a woman who spreads her legs for any man who asks? When I divorce you, I will keep Sally as English law states. You, my dear, will become a social outcast as English custom dictates."

At that, Viktor walked to the door.

"You would not dare create a scandal," Adele called, alarmed.

Viktor paused, contempt etched across his expression. "I wish you were married to your grave."

Regina carried her one-year-old son into the drawing room. Ginger walked behind her, followed by Hamlet.

"Good afternoon," Regina greeted her father and Forest Fredericks, her father's business associate.

"I didn't come here to visit the dog," Reginald Smith snapped.

"I'll take him," Ginger said, and turned to leave. "Come, Hamlet. I'll give you a treat."

The large well-lit family parlor exuded a cosy, bookish informality, which Regina loved almost as much as the study. With bookcases built into the walls, the parlor had been decorated in red with touches of black and ochre walls. Richly patterned kilims, paisley upholstery, Persian rugs, patterned drapes, and leather-bound books warmed the room. Of course, her father preferred---

"The Countess of Langley should entertain in the formal drawing room, not the family parlor," her father said.

"I prefer this room to the formal coldness of the other," Regina said, determined to avoid an argument. At least, she would try. "I only entertain people I like in this room."

"We're flattered," Reginald said, his tone sarcastic. "Aren't we, Forest?"

Thinking an argument seemed imminent, Regina looked at Forest Fredericks, who winked at her. She smiled at the man whom she had always considered an uncle. If not for Forest and Ginger's father, she would have felt completely unloved.

Short and slight, Uncle Forest had a receding hairline and the beginnings of a pot belly. He wore thick spectacles that slipped constantly, which he pushed up with an index finger. Behind those spectacles, Forest had the warmest brown eyes and kindly expression.

In fact, Forest Fredericks was the opposite of Reginald Smith in looks, bearing, and personality. Her father was reasonably tall, just under six feet, and had black hair tinged with silver. The attractive widower had refused to remarry, though, certain that women wanted his money.

"How are you, Uncle Forest?"

"Quite well." He pushed his slipping spectacles up.

"Give me my grandson," her father ordered.

Regina passed him the boy. Austen stared at his grandfather's somber expression and reached to touch his face. "Gapa," Austen said.

"He knows me," Reginald said, his dark eyes gleaming with pleasure.

How many years had it been since pleasure had registered on her father's face? She had no memory of his ever smiling at her with approval.

"The boy bears a remarkable resemblance to you," Forest said.

Regina covered her mouth to hide her smile. She looked at her father's business associate and wondered how he could say that without laughing. She supposed Uncle Forest was merely flattering her father. Many people did that to deflect his sarcastic gruffness.

Except for the black hair and brown eyes, Austen looked nothing like his grandfather. He was the image of her husband, who also had dark hair and eyes.

"I am glad you decided to visit today," Regina said. "Charles and I are leaving tomorrow for the Duke of Inverary's country house."

"You are traveling in the highest circles," Reginald said, seeming pleased. "Mind your manners, missy."

Regina felt the familiar spark of irritation. She was a grown woman of twenty-two. Did her father believe she could not conduct herself properly, or was he trying to start an argument?

"You aren't taking Austen?"

"Austen will remain in London with Nanny Sprig and Ginger."

"Then visiting my grandson today or tomorrow matters little," Reginald said, his gaze on the boy.

Seeing his daughter matters little to him.

Regina flinched at his sentiment but steeled herself against the pain. After a lifetime of callous disregard, Reginald Smith still possessed the power to hurt her.

"Well, I am happy to visit both Regina and Austen," Forest interjected.

Regina managed a faint smile. "Thank you, Uncle Forest."

"How is Ginger feeling these days?" Forest pushed his spectacles up with his index finger.

"She still believes someone murdered her father," Regina answered. "Bartholomew Evans loved his daughter too much to commit suicide."

"Bart hanged himself," Reginald said bluntly. "There was no evidence of foul play. None whatsoever."

"I find this subject distasteful," Regina said, glad that her friend had not heard her father.

"The subject or my opinion?"

"Both." Her father was the most insensitive man she had ever met. Except for her husband.

"You will certainly enjoy yourself at the duke's party," Forest said into the lengthening silence.

"I will not enjoy myself," Regina said. "Upon arrival, Charles will disappear with his mistress."

Forest Fredericks blushed with embarrassment and pushed his spectacles up.

Reginald chuckled, drawing her attention. "Men will always be men and take what is offered. That's the way the world wags."

"Not my world." Regina lost her temper. "How can my own father condone such immoral behavior? You disgust me almost as much as my husband."

"I should have known that red hair would give you a fiery temper." Reginald shook his head in disapproval. "You remind me of your mother."

"Those famous last words," Regina said. "If you wanted a title so badly, you should have married Bradford and left me in peace."

"Watch your mouth, missy," Reginald warned. "You're not too old---"

"Spare me the fatherly discipline," Regina interrupted. "If you cannot show me respect, then expect none in return. Do not bother visiting me again."

"Charles will have something to say about that," Reginald said.

"Chuck cares only about drinking, gambling, and whoring," Regina told him. "Stop blushing, Uncle Forest." She looked at her father again, adding, "My husband doesn't care if you never see Austen."

"He does if he wants my money."

"When you die," Regina said, "Charles will inherit all your money through me. I guarantee nothing will be left for Austen. All will have been wasted on cards, gin, and whores."

"You always did think you knew more than your father."

"Perhaps I do."

"I have taken precautions against your husband's spending habits," her father informed her.

"What do you mean?"

"Forest is the executor of my estate," Reginald answered. "Charles and you will receive generous allowances, but Forest will control my assets until Austen reaches his majority.

Hopefully, your husband will have drunk himself into the grave by then."

"With all due respect to Uncle Forest, I am capable of handling my husband and my finances," Regina said, fuming at his high-handedness. "Ginger Evans has inherited her father's genius with numbers. If I cannot control my own money with her assistance, give it to charity."

"The money is mine, not yours," Reginald reminded her. "You ungrateful wretch. I found you an earl to marry, and your son will be an earl."

"You chose yourself a son-in-law," Regina said. "You traded me for a title."

"You will thank me---"

"---for dying and leaving me in peace."

"You will regret those words some day."

"I can manage the regret, if not my own finances."

"Regina, perhaps we could have a private word," Forest said, ending the all-too-familiar bickering.

"I don't need her permission to do what I want," Reginald insisted.

"You do, if you don't want her to give Austen's inheritance to charity." Forest pushed his spectacles up and gave him a pointed look. Her father nodded in reluctant agreement.

Regina followed Forest into the corridor. "Both Ginger and I adore you," she said, "but we can take care of ourselves."

"I understand your feelings on the matter," Forest told her. "Reginald does not comprehend that women are different these days. Your father can be inflexible." He smiled to soften his next words. "Inflexibility is a quality you have inherited from him. Once he's gone, I will relinquish full control of the money to you. Of course, I will expect to advise you for a period of time."

Regina knew that was the best she could do. Her father had never had any faith in her abilities because she could never be the son he had wanted. In his eyes, his daughter was only a woman.

Regina inclined her head. "I will accept his inheritance."

They returned to the drawing room.

"Regina agrees to accept the inheritance and your plans for it," Forest told her father.

"Should I thank her for agreeing to take my money?" Reginald grumbled. "How did you manage that, Forest?"

"Regina is an intelligent young woman." He pushed his spectacles up. "Though, you refuse to recognize her worth."

Reginald stood, kissed his grandson's pudgy cheeks, and passed him to her. "Do not worry overmuch about your husband's mistress," he said in an awkward attempt to soothe her.

"I pray each night for Adele Kazanov's continued good health," Regina said, her green eyes sparkling with amusement.

Reginald gave her a decidedly unamused look and then followed Forest to the door.

"Father?"

He paused and turned around.

"Resembling my mother makes me proud."

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