Prologue

Odette

Odette couldn’t shake the feeling she was being followed. 

It began the moment she stepped into the packed marketplace, bustling with merchants and their goods, along with those who perused their stands. 

Odette glanced over her shoulder as she pushed through the crowd, not staying in one place for too long. She had to keep going or risk being caught. 

She dodged a cart full of flourishing cabbages, and the man pushing it gave her an irritated look. She gave him a sympathetic look, unable to offer an adequate apology for nearly knocking his merchandise over. 

Odette’s heart clenched as she caught a glimpse of blue fabric embroidered with delicate silver accents and adorned with shimmering gold ornaments that sparkled in the sunlight. Despite the rapid pounding of her heart, she urged herself to breathe steadily and steeled her nerves. With a determined step, she continued moving forward.

Pushing through the endless sea of people, Odette didn’t utter a single apology to any of them. There was no time, not while the English soldier was surely on her trail. 

No matter how she pivoted or diverted from her original path, she couldn’t seem to shake him. 

He’s a persistent one, she thought to herself as she swerved around a young woman with a child clung to her skirts, paying them no mind. With another look over her shoulder, Odette saw the soldier’s face—built hard like stone and stitched with determination. 

Quickening her steps, Odette planned to lose him one way or another. She moved between two stands and hid behind a group of particularly tall men. Her shoes scuffed against the cobblestone and took her as fast as possible without causing too much alarm. 

Hoping it had done the trick, Odette chanced another peek over her shoulder and gasped when the soldier advanced his pace too. He was much closer than she liked. 

Urgently, Odette focused only on getting away. Her vision narrowed as if she were peering through a tunnel, not looking at the faces of those she squeezed through. She couldn’t spare even a second of her time. 

Her pulse thundered in her ears, an alarm she could only hear. She wasn’t one to avoid all dangerous or compromising moments for her own sake, for grazing unlawful situations often gave her a thrill, yet that instance was more nerve-wracking than she bargained for. 

With a thick wad of money carefully wrapped and hidden beneath the fabric of her modest dress, Odette needed to be careful. She couldn’t be caught, not when others were depending on her to make it. 

Just a little farther, Odette reminded herself even as her lungs burned from forcing her unsteady legs onward. 

If they managed to catch her, Odette could only imagine the horrid things they would do with her—a financier to a group of French rebel countrymen, and a woman no less. 

Pictures of being captured for answers, sent away by ship to another continent and forever labeled a traitor, or even being strung up in the streets for all to see flashed in her mind, and Odette was determined to maintain her freedom. She needed to be careful. 

She had taken the same route to the drop-off point countless times before, but something felt different now. The blue coat that lingered behind her wasn’t a coincidence. She was certainly being followed whether she could stomach it or not. 

Odette broke into an open space in the street and released a shaky breath. She eyed her surroundings, only to find the same soldier hot on her trail. 

“You there!”

Odette’s skin ran cold at the man’s voice, certain it was directed at her. Others turned to look at the scene, but there was no time. She had to save her skin before it was too late. 

Keeping her head low, Odette abandoned all discretion and ran. She shoved through the busiest portion of the marketplace, not stopping despite how her body begged her to. While the extra fabric of her dress felt cumbersome, Odette never let it stop her. 

“I command you to stop where you are!” 

The voice felt like cold hands against the back of her neck, dragging Odette down to her eternal punishment. While it terrified her beyond belief, it only made her feet move faster, as swiftly as she could manage. 

More voices carried across the marketplace, aware of Odette and the chase. She had been spotted, and stealth was beyond her then. She had no choice but to get away while she had the chance, even if the window of opportunity was closing quickly. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Odette ran down the street, not caring who saw her. She turned corner after corner, head full of every fear that chased her like the soldier. She imagined more had gathered with him, after her like a pack of wolves. 

Before long, she would run out of places to turn and need to rely on her quick wit. Weaving through the throngs of people with arms full of goods or their children’s hands in theirs, her eyes darted around the space, looking for any chance of getting away. She needed a strategy, even if everything was developing far faster than she could think. 

Spotting a narrow alley shrouded with darkness, Odette knew her options were abysmal. Veering to the right, she cut through civilians approaching her, stirring a commotion. It had to work. 

Her feet hammered down the alleyway, arms pumping as hard as she could. Her heart ran faster than it ever had, and she wondered how much more it could take before it gave out between the fear and exertion. 

Rats squeaked from within their hiding places in the shadows, but Odette didn’t acknowledge them. She didn’t have that luxury anymore. Whether they were rodents, stray dogs, or beggars, Odette couldn’t wait around to find out. 

Her heart lodged in her throat the moment she skidded to an abrupt stop, almost tumbling over from her momentum. She swallowed hard and felt the persistent strike in her chest. It was a dead end. 

She ran herself right into a trap. 

Oh no, she thought, skin growing cold at the realization. 

The clamor of boots against cobblestone made Odette whiz around, forcing her to face her grave mistake head-on.

Multiple soldiers crowded around the one who had been in pursuit of her for some time, all blocking the way out. Their sheer size and numbers were intimidating, but Odette could only focus on looking for any sort of vantage point to somehow escape them. 

“Gentlemen.” She curtsied and smiled, “How may I be of help to you, sirs?”

“Drop the act,” a soldier said with a hint of mockery in his tone. “Better give up now and come with us.” 

“That is no way to speak to a lady. Didn’t your mothers teach you better?” Odette clenched her jaw and reminded herself to remain calm. She ushered away the panic that crawled beneath her skin and breathed evenly. The men approached her as if they had already won.

She stood defiantly in front of the group of soldiers, her eyes narrowing as she assessed each one of them. She decided that the man who spoke to her first was the ugliest of them all.

“You have nowhere to go now. You’re trapped,” he continued, his voice dripping with malice.

Odette refused to let fear show on her face. “I’d rather die than go with you,” she spat back, her words laced with venom.

A second soldier let out a cruel laugh. “I heard French women prefer it rough.”

Her heart sank, but she refused to let them see her weakness. “I can see your mothers failed in raising you to be true gentlemen.”

“Get her, Collins. We don’t have all day,” someone shouted.

Odette stood her ground, adopting a relaxed posture and placing her hands on her waist. “Let me teach you a valuable lesson your mother didn’t,” she taunted. “You must never underestimate a woman.”

Before the soldier could respond, Odette charged at the ringleader and sent her foot flying. It collided with his face and made a sickening sound. He recoiled at the contact, clutching his face and howling in pain. 

“She broke my nose!” he bellowed, pulling his hands back to see his palms streaked in crimson. Blood poured from his nose and smeared against his skin. 

There was a flickering pause as the men stared at her in shock, surprised by Odette’s ferocity. Surely they didn’t expect any rebelliousness from a woman like herself. 

Laughing at the pained man, she felt no remorse for the soldier. In her mind, he deserved it for even trying to corner her and interfere with her business. She sneered at him, “That’s what you get for underestimating me.”

“Get her!” the soldier shouted, pointing with his free hand while the other held his injury.

The others stormed Odette before she could come up with anything else, yet she struggled against their hands regardless. She pulled and kicked, but it seemed they were suddenly aware of what her feet were capable of and guarded themselves. 

She thrashed like an untamed animal, yet she was soon outnumbered. Her arms were pulled behind her back and tied roughly, held in place by the additional men. 

Dread trickled down her spine, aware that she had fallen straight into their grasp. It was the very thing she wasn’t supposed to do. She was caught and had no choice but to confront her crimes. 

She bit her tongue from spewing every curse and vile thing she could think of, frustrated by not only her capture but for putting herself in that position. She let everyone down. 

Another pair of steps echoed around them and captured Odette’s attention. She peered down the alley and found a tall figure with a muscled frame. He approached them, dressed in a formal uniform similar to those restraining her. 

He looked important. 

The man cleared his throat and straightened his back, face blank. His voice rang with pride, “Odette Toussaint, you are under arrest for treason against the English crown.” 

Chapter One

Theophilus

Theophilus stumbled down the street, his surroundings a blurry haze as he struggled to make his way home. His head felt like a lead weight, refusing to lift despite his efforts. His boots scraped along the pavement, his once steady gait reduced to a clumsy shuffle.

He couldn’t feel his legs; his mind was a mishmash of jumbled thoughts. He wondered for a moment if he had any thoughts in there at all. 

The warm presence of booze filtered through his system and blurred his vision. He hiccupped, stopping himself before he could empty the contents of his stomach with a fist pressed against his lips. He paused and let the feeling ebb before he continued. 

Music from the gentlemen’s club reverberated in his mind like a ghost of the night he divulged. The band had played in the background while drinks and women were passed around with their wanton smiles, and giddy laughter surrounded him. 

While Theophilus had relished in the debauchery, he wasn’t too fond of the journey home. Feeling the toss and turn of his stomach with every step he took, he couldn’t be certain if he’d make it there before his legs gave out and forced him to sleep on the street for the night.

Against all odds, the very house he desired to reach appeared before him, much to Theophilus’ relief. An amused sound left his lips as he climbed the steps, urging his feet to keep going. 

Stumbling against the door, he reached for the knob and gave it a turn, but it didn’t open. Furrowing his brows in frustration, he tried again to no avail. 

“Blasted door,” he muttered to himself. The night’s pleasure fizzled away as he grew more agitated while trying the doorknob. 

With a solid push, the lock released with a click, and Theophilus dove inside along with the door, falling onto the rug that lined the foyer. 

Blinking back his surprise, Theophilus stifled a laugh and tried to sit up. When he focused harder, he found his mother in front of him, arms crossed over her chest. Her face was twisted with disappointment. 

“Have you no shame?” she demanded of him, offering a hand of support as he sat there like a disoriented child. 

Theophilus mumbled to himself, still dazed and trying to piece together how he had ended up sprawled on the floor. He accepted his mother’s gesture, her words barely registering in his mind as he struggled to regain his bearings. Everything felt hazy, like a dream that he couldn’t quite shake.

She pulled him up with that unimpressed look stitched into her features, yet she still aided her son toward the kitchen. He swayed, but she made sure to keep him upright to save them both from another spill. 

Even if she was often hard on him, his mother couldn’t find it within herself to shut him out completely or leave him to his messes. Regardless of the state he was in, she always gave him a hand. It wasn’t his intention to take advantage of a mother’s love for her son, yet he took the help all the same.

The room spun as Theophilus was moved to the kitchen and placed on one of the wooden chairs off to the side while his mother ordered the cook to brew a fresh coffee. He sat there and tried his hardest to process what exactly was happening. He had the feeling he should be wary of his mother’s reaction to his sloppy condition, yet with the drinks in his belly, Theophilus was numb to consequences. 

After an uncertain amount of time went by, his mother handed him a teacup full of dark brown liquid that steamed vigorously. That familiar scent invaded his senses and brought him back down to earth. 

“Here you are,” his mother murmured, her eyebrows knit together. She sat in the chair across from him and watched with a critical eye. “Now, drink it. It should sort you out.” 

Theophilus brought the cup closer and peered into the coffee, just barely able to see his reflection in it. It wobbled and shook with the slight tremble of his hand, as disheveled and unruly as he felt at that moment. 

Before he got seasick from gazing at it, he brought it to his lips and took a careful sip. It was bitter and scorching, burning down his throat. Yet Theophilus was thankful for it. 

“That should about do it,” he slurred, putting a leg out to stand once more. After placing his cup down, he stood, but his legs had another idea entirely. 

Losing his footing, Theophilus stumbled and watched as the floor drew closer, but his mother’s hands secured his arms before it could happen. 

“For goodness sake,” his mother grumbled to herself. She was the only thing standing between her son and the cold stone floor. 

Theophilus swayed, his stomach uneasy. He couldn’t decide if it was simply from the drinks or the impending scolding from his mother. He didn’t have the energy or mind to contemplate it much further. 

Forced back into the chair once more, he received a pointed finger in his face. 

“Sit and stay,” she began, leaning back in her chair more comfortably. “We need to talk.”

Theophilus dropped his chin to rest on his palm, leaning against the table. He blinked back at his mother slowly, his limbs seemingly made of butter. “I’m not in the mood.” 

“I don’t care,” she snapped like a whip, quick enough to make Theophilus recoil in his chair. She took a sip from her coffee and eyed her son. 

It felt like a long moment had passed while she studied him. Her lips formed a flat line—something she often did whenever her son thwarted her.

“Have you no shame?” she asked again, gaze cold and indifferent. “What would Harold say if he saw you in such a state?” 

Dread trickled down Theophilus’ neck at the mention of his brother. A bitter laugh crept past his lips. He spoke against the side of his cup. “He can’t anymore. He’s dead, remember?” 

All meaning was lost from the joke the moment his mother’s face dropped at his words, her lips deepening into a frown. Her eyes seemed to turn a shade darker while she stared at him. He felt every shred of sorrow and anger in his mother then. He wished he hadn’t said anything at all. 

“You worked so hard in the army, yet you threw it all away for the cheap thrill of women and alcohol,” she uttered, her eyes a mix of pain and disappointment. “Your father is furious with you, Theophilus, and I can no longer defend your behavior. You can’t afford to continue down this path much longer.” She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping with the weight of her concern.

“Can’t this wait until morning?” 

“There will be no time left from how you burn it so carelessly!” she exclaimed, disbelieving her son’s apathy. “Your father and I aren’t getting any younger, and with your brother gone, the dukedom falls on your shoulders. It is in your best interest to take this responsibility seriously.” 

Theophilus wanted to ignore his mother’s words, to brush off her concerns as the ramblings of a nagging parent. But something in the way she looked at him, a mix of disappointment and genuine worry, ate away at his resolve and planted a seed of guilt deep within him. He shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet her gaze as another wave of shame washed over him. He was at a loss for words, trapped in yet another tense stare-off with her. His mind raced, searching for something to say, some way to defend himself. But he knew, deep down, that there was no defense for his actions.

He took a long drag from his coffee and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m too tired for this.” 

With a dejected gleam in her eyes, his mother sat back once more, face hardening like stone. Her pitiful look seemed to burn his skin, but Theophilus couldn’t find it within himself to act more becoming in that moment. 

She shook her head. “I expect more from you, Theophilus.” 

Without anything left to say, he simply blinked back at her in the silence that fell between them. 

Ignoring her coffee, his mother pushed up from her chair and turned swiftly on her heel. She stalked out of the room before Theophilus could say anything to try and ease the sting of his insolence. 

With a drawn-out sigh, Theophilus forgot about his coffee and stood to the best of his ability. His head thrummed as darkness shaded his vision for a moment, and he headed toward the doorway with uncertain steps. 

The merriment he had felt earlier that night completely simmered to nothing, and the mention of his deceased brother perturbed Theophilus. 

Harold’s face flashed within the dark space of his mind, and Theophilus fought against the strike it made to his heart. He didn’t want to think about his brother then, not when he always came up whenever their parents needed to compare their actions and accomplishments and remind him he was very unlike his brother. 

His boots shuffled against the floor with each slow and careful step he took out of the kitchen. He moved little by little until he reached the wide staircase that led to his bedroom. He wanted nothing more than to be tucked in his bed to let his drunken stupor fade away. 

Yet, the stairs appeared even taller than usual. With the ache of his limbs and the dizziness in his head, Theophilus decided against it. He imagined himself tumbling down the stairs and winding up as a heap of limbs at the very bottom. Saving himself the trouble, he staggered toward the sitting room. 

The hearth housed an impressive fire, and Theophilus approached it like a moth drawn to a flame. Its warmth soothed his aches and pains, and he thought it was as good a place as any to settle. 

Dropping himself onto the tan chaise lounge before the fire, Theophilus tucked his legs up and curled into the cushion, unfazed by its meager comparison to his bed. He dropped his head and let his eyes close for the night. 

At least then, he could shut out the world and his mother’s disappointment for a few hours.