Prologue

Kent, 1866

 

Phillip stumbled up the stone steps of Oakwell Manor, his legs numb from the pace of his ride. His clothing was sodden and his coat felt like it was woven from iced iron as it swung against him. He pounded on the door, caught in the furious storm of his emotions.

Walters opened the door with an expression of mild surprise but was no match for Phillip’s momentum. He was past the man before he’d spoken a single word, marching toward the beckoning light in the ground floor study.

“Trent!” he roared before he’d crossed the threshold. “Trent! You son of a bitch!”

The Earl leaned back in his chair and calmly set down his book. “Warrick!” he said cheerfully. “Not on your honeymoon?”

“You bastard! You well know that I am not!” Phillip ran a hand through his wet hair to pull it off his face. “You know more than anyone!”

“Yes, that is probably true.” Trent was all smiles. “Did you come by for enlightenment?”

For one fleeting breath, Phillip nearly launched at the smug figure seated before the fire, his hands curling into claws prepared to tear the earl’s throat out—but god, more than the satisfaction of murder, he desperately wanted to understand why his life had taken such a horrifying turn. “Yes. Enlighten me, old friend.”

“I once promised to be your mentor, did I not? But I failed you, dear boy. You crossed me long ago and I neglected to punish you. Let’s just say, that I vowed to set things right.”

“I…crossed you? How?” Phillip’s breath caught in his throat. “Long ago? That courtesan? Are you—is it even possible?”

“I assure you, it is more than possible. It is a certainty. You had the audacity to mount another man’s prized mare without so much as a by your leave, Warrick.” Trent’s cheery demeanor began to fall away. “You made a mockery of me! But you’ve got the bitter end of it now.”

“That was years ago! You—said you’d forgiven all!”

“A bit of a lie, that. I apologize.”

“So all of it? Raven was—all of this was some kind of scheme to destroy me in payment for tupping a slut you once bought a few dresses for?”

“I had that slut’s keeping!” Geoffrey screamed and then went as still as stone. “No need to revisit that now. But how is your bride?”

“What do you mean how is my bride? I’ve come here to fetch her! Tell her to come down, Trent!”

Geoffrey’s mouth fell open, his eyes alight with excitement, as he left his chair at last. “Tell me. Tell me what happened when you read my letter, Phillip. Tell me every detail and I will do what I can.”

Phillip could taste ashes in his mouth at the sick and strange turns in their conversation. But he wanted Raven. “What is there to tell? I read the letter while we were still in the carriage en route to Gretna Green.”

“Impatient boy! Did I not write on the envelope that you were to wait until after your marriage?”

“That? That is your complaint now?” Phillip had to clench his jaw and count to three before he could continue. “Raven was asleep and I found the note in my pocket. I didn’t think it would make any difference… But it made all the difference, didn’t it?”

“You didn’t make your wedding vows?”

Phillip pressed a hand to his eyes, the grip of a headache starting to clamp down. “We weren’t in any hurry. We’d stopped along the way and…I never thought to rush.”

“The letter.”

“Yes! I read it! I was bored and it was pouring rain to make for slow going and I read the damned thing!” Phillip dropped his hand, fury carrying him past the pain. “It was an ugly scene, sir! I woke her and threw her from the carriage! I ordered the driver to ride on and had every intention of never turning back!”

“Brilliant!”

“Was it? The carriage barely made it to the next hamlet before the mud became too much and the roads impassable. I was drinking at a roadside inn and cursing both of you to the fiery pits of Hell when it—occurred to me that I’d made a mistake.”

“Only one?” Trent prodded with a laugh.

“Raven is mine. The lack of dowry stings but money can be made, sir. If there is one lesson you did convey before descending into madness, it was that one. As for the rest of her villainy, I…” Phillip swallowed hard. Here was the harder hurdle. His instincts said that Raven was an innocent when he’d taken her that first time, and he’d have sworn her maidenly barrier was not contrived with theatrics. But the vile flatness of the language the earl had used; the vague threat that every male servant inside this hall was even now laughing at him behind his back because they’d had her in every room of Oakwell Manor… Phillip started to choke on the bile that rose up his throat. “It is between us. I will attend to her failings and if I have to keep her under lock and key, then so be it. Tell her to come down.”

“And my promise to notify the papers?”

“By all means,” Phillip countered. “Of course, you’ll have to include that she was your ward and under your supervision. The implications will be that you approved. Approved of every misstep and may have even encouraged it. I fail to see how your reputation is not also forfeit, so by all means. Contact the reporters. I’m sure they will have all manner of questions about how to raise a vile slut as one would a house cat.”

Trent nodded. “Good point and one I hadn’t considered. Good man! Oh, well. I will savor my victory in private then.” Geoffrey brushed off his hands. “Thank you for stopping by. I’m sorry I can’t offer you a room but you have so much to do, sir.”

“Yes. Keep your petty revenge, you piece of shit. Now, Raven. Tell her to come down,” Phillip repeated, a new chilling fear snaking up his spine. “The weather delayed my return but when she wasn’t…She’d abandoned all her things but I know she would have found her way back home.”

Geoffrey tugged on the bell pull. “She is not here.”

“She has to be here.”

The earl smiled. “No. Don’t be a simpleton. A woman abandoned in a rainstorm by the side of the road with dark fast approaching? Use your imagination, boy. Go on. What do you suppose can have happened to your Raven by now?”

“God. No.” In his glorious upset, he’d seized only on the one outcome. She’d thrown a fit by the side of the road, dumped out her trunks in a temper and then marched homeward until securing transportation of her own so that she could return to the welcoming arms of her nefarious guardian and his praise for her conquest.

But now…his imagination achieved a dozen horrifying scenarios in the space of a single heartbeat and Phillip staggered back as if the earl had struck him in his midsection with an andiron.

Trent clapped his hands in malicious glee. “Look on the bright side, baron. Your whore has given you a gift and freed you of worry. Death is a quick solution and she’s either drowned in a fen, succumbed to the cold of exposure or actively hung herself from the first obliging tree she could find.” The earl shook his head. “It amazes me how women are so resourceful!”

“I murdered her,” Phillip whispered.

Strong hands began to seize his arms and Phillip’s misery was compounded by the humiliation of realizing he was about to be forced from the earl’s house.

“Undoubtedly! But what nonsense! What do you care?” Geoffrey scoffed and then started to laugh. “Although it is an unexpected thrill to see you so devastated, Warrick. For that, I shall never be able to repay you as you’ve made years of planning and all my pains worth it.”

No matter what wicked part she’d played in his downfall, the guilt he felt at her destruction was paralyzing. “All this? Because years ago, I fancied myself in love with Lacey?”

“Was that her name?” the earl asked.

Phillip’s gaze narrowed, his rage returning in full force, choking him. Only the footmen’s hold kept him from hurling himself at Trent.

“I’d forgotten,” Lord Trent admitted softly. “Throw him out and see that he is never admitted to my property again. Good bye, Warrick.”

“This isn’t the end!” Phillip struggled as the footmen began to haul him backward. “I’ll make you pay!”

“Stupid to threaten a man of rank and with witnesses, sir. You’ll do no such thing. Or I’ll start asking what happened to my sweet little ward and you’ll swing from a hangman’s noose.” Trent’s brow furrowed with impatience. “It’s ended so prettily, don’t spoil my evening, boy! Out!”

They had him through the foyer and pushed down the steps with the added indignity of a beating to ensure that it was all he could do to crawl back onto his horse. The heavens reopened with an icy downpour and before Phillip reached the gate, his stallion was lame.

He dismounted and limped toward the village.

Broken.

A man broken with nothing.

Phillip Warrick was lost.