Prologue

There was nothing more human than to dance. It encapsulated so much of the human experience: gratitude, joy, passion. One need not be an expert to enjoy a dance, all that was required was a willing heart and an aspiring spirit. As Holly Walsh watched the gentlemen and ladies of the Ton dance across the polished parquet floor, she wondered if she would ever find her own perfect dance partner. A man who could share her joys and fears alike. Who would allow her to dance like no one else was in the room.

Holly had spent a year dancing at society parties. Only one man really captured her imagination. What, she reasoned, was the point in wasting her time and energy dancing when there was only one man she could ever want?

It was that particular man her eyes followed most closely. He was an excellent dancer; nimble, graceful, and assured. More than once, Holly considered moving seats to meet his eye but feared, as time went on, that such a ploy would prove obvious and indelicate.

There was a loud exhalation of breath as her friend, Sybil, slumped into the empty chair beside her. “Are you going to dance at all, or are you just going to stare at everyone else dancing?” Sybil asked.

Color rose to Holly’s cheeks. “I was not staring.”

Sybil raised an eyebrow. “Then what does one call looking fixedly at someone with eyes wide open?”

“Observing,” Holly said with a small smile.

Sybil stifled a laugh. “Observing, indeed.”

Holly raised her chin and watched the man glide across the ballroom floor. At the corner of her vision, she caught Sybil following the line of her sight and noticed who she was staring at.

Sybil narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you are looking at—”

“Good evening, ladies,” came a low baritone from behind them.

They both turned around in surprise. Standing behind them, dressed in a dark velvet tailcoat above a white cravat, was Sybil’s father—Lord Thomas Spencer, Earl of Spiningdale. The ladies rose to their feet and curtsied as Lord Spencer inclined his head in a small bow.

“There is a young gentleman I would like you both to meet,” said Lord Spencer gesturing over his shoulder.

A man appeared from behind him in a dark burgundy tailcoat and even darker cravat. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a prominent jaw. He gave a deep bow as Lord Spencer made the introduction.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said with a smile as his glance settled on Sybil.  “I must ask, Lady Sybil if you would be so kind as to favor me with a dance.”

Sybil glanced once at her father, who gave an approving nod, then at the tall gentleman who stood before them, then at Holly last of all.

“It would be my pleasure,” Sybil said with a smile, and they walked toward the parquet floor.

Lord Spencer gave a polite nod and strode off to view the dance closer. Holly breathed a gentle sigh of relief as she was left alone again. She was not prepared to tell anyone quite yet that she was captivated by Harold Exley, the Duke of Exenwood. That was a secret she intended to keep for as long as possible. She searched the dancefloor for him once again, but he had disappeared. She hissed out a breath and sank back into her seat.

It had been three years since she first laid eyes on the Duke of Exenwood in her father’s study.  He had dark, sand-hued eyes and thick black hair that cascaded down his shoulders. His smile was his greatest asset—a smile beautiful enough to chasten or charm almost anyone the man wanted. It unsettled Holly how he could be so impossibly handsome and yet still so gentle in countenance and possessed of self-command. What more could anyone want in a husband?

She searched the dancefloor for him once more and found His Grace had not returned. She tapped her foot impatiently as she glanced over her shoulder to search the other half of the room, and her eyes fell almost immediately on the man himself. At his side was his mother, the Dowager Duchess of Exenwood, a close friend of Holly’s mother.

It was not until the Duke of Exenwood’s eyes met her own that Holly realized that the man was walking toward her. She nearly swallowed her tongue as her heart began to thump sharply at her chest. He is coming this way! To speak to me!

She gulped down a breath, wondering if this would finally be her moment. Will he finally ask me to dance?

His Grace was a few years older than her and had only ever been perfectly polite, but something about the look in his eyes gave Holly the impression that this time might be different. That he would finally see her as more than the daughter of his business associate.

She straightened and wet her lips as he approached.

“Lady Holly Walsh,” he said with a subtle bow, “how wonderful to see you again.”

“Your Grace,” Holly said with a curtsey, before repeating the gesture to his mother, “and Your Grace.”

His mother smiled, and Holly saw that the woman had the same perfect smile that the Duke had.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” the Duke asked, teasing a smile.

Not ‘til just now, Holly wanted to say. Instead, she said, “The Earl and Countess of Spiningdale certainly know how to throw a fantastic event.”

His smile widened. “They certainly do, I have had a wonderful time dancing this evening. Though I do not recall seeing you on the dancefloor, Lady Holly Walsh.”

Holly’s heart started to thump hard against her chest. This is it. He is finally going to ask me to dance.

“I have wanted to dance, I have only been waiting for a good dance partner,” she said fluttering her eyelashes ever-so-slightly. Just enough to prompt his invitation for a dance.

His mother gave an obliging smile as he leaned in and whispered, “I am sure a good dance partner will come along soon, Lady Holly.”

Holly let out a sharp gasp as the Duke pulled back from her.

“Do enjoy the rest of your evening, Lady Holly Walsh,” he said, turning away with his mother.

Holly watched him leave with open-mouthed awe. She had given him every opportunity to dance with her and he respectfully declined. She was mortified.

The duke had danced with more than half the eligible ladies in attendance and still was not prepared to offer her a single dance. Her chin sank into her neck as she sagged back into her seat.

At the edge of the dancefloor, the Duke parted ways with his mother and turned back toward Holly. Their eyes met and her heart started to beat again. He was coming toward her. She clutched tight around her arm rest as he drew nearer with each step. At last, he stood in front of her and gave her that wonderful smile.

“Actually, it occurred to me that you might not be quite so averse to dancing with me. Would you favor me with a dance, Lady Holly?”

Holly colored violently, her heartbeat quickening as she opened her mouth to speak. “I would like that, Your Grace,” she managed with an effort.

He escorted her to the dancefloor with typical grace and bowed low as the orchestra struck up the chords for the upcoming dance set. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as she stared into his eyes and then the music began to play. They danced with all the grace of veterans, smooth and seamless as they glided across the parquet floor. She felt watching eyes as they got closer, but paid them no mind, this was the beginning of her most desired dream, she would let nothing ruin that moment. She leaned into him, her head almost resting on the underside of his chin. Warmth shot through her from inside. The music slowed and she felt his hand tighten around hers.

They talked of things of trivial importance as they danced, and Holly noticed his attention wavered every so often as they moved across the floor.

“Is there something on your mind, Your Grace?” she asked as they backtracked across the dancefloor.

He stared down at her as though seeing her for the first time. “I beg your pardon, My Lady?”

“You seem distracted,” Holly said.

He slipped into an easy smile, changing the topic effortlessly, “I must say, you are a wonderful dancer, Lady Holly.”

She smiled. “As are you, Your Grace.”

She looked up at him and noticed his eyes were wandering again. This time she followed his gaze and saw his focus was locked intently on one woman in particular. Slender, with even complexion and hair piled on her head in brunette curls. Everyone in the ballroom knew who she was. Lady Viola Acton, the Diamond of the Season.

Holly felt her stomach churn as she watched the Duke. The desire in his eyes was clear as he watched the woman. If she had any doubts, they had been resolved by that stony resolution as he stared at Lady Viola Acton.

The dance came to an end and the Duke excused himself with polite haste. Holly returned to her seat to spectate and noticed that the Duke had shifted across the hall to speak to Lady Viola. Her eyes widened as she watched. Before the orchestra had even played a testing tune, he was escorting Lady Viola to the very center of the dancefloor.  His smile wide and proud as she stood next to him.

The orchestra struck up a waltz and that served to set Holly’s stomach to churning once more. Together, they proceeded to dance with all the wordless passion that Holly had wanted for herself. Her eyes must have been etched with jealousy, but she did not care as she stared at them. They danced close and smooth, speaking in whispers, laughing all the while. If the Duke had seemed distracted while dancing with Holly, it was because she was not the true object of his focus. Now the truth was laid bare. Lady Viola had all his attention. Not once did his eyes leave her as they danced. Their waltz was one of peerless grace. They moved with all the perfection of veteran dance partners giving a signature performance. With each moment, Holly’s hopes grew smaller and smaller. She gritted her teeth as she found the strength to turn away. Somehow, some way, she had to help the Duke see that his happiness lay in her and not in Lady Viola Acton. How could she ever love him, the way Holly so evidently could? It simply was not possible. One way or another, I am going to make you see me…Your Grace.

Chapter One

Nicholas watched the dice roll to a stop at the corner of the table. There was a lull in the music as the orchestra dulled to strike up a new song.

“Four!” called the waist-coated dealer loudly enough for all to hear. A quiet chorus of jeers sounded around the table as they watched Nicholas’s rotten luck grow even more rotten. The dealer swiped away a gut-wrenching portion of his chips with not so much as a consolatory glance. This had not been his night, but like his father, Nicholas always believed that his luck was just a moment away from turning. In his father’s words, “Your next win is just a roll of dice away.”

He frowned as he took a long gulp from his whiskey glass.

Connor, his dearest friend, put a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Tonight is not your night, Nicholas, give up.”

Nicholas stared at Connor as he drained the rest of his drink in a single conclusive gulp. “You know me, Connor. I don’t ever give up.”

A grin blossomed on his face once more as he pushed the rest of his gambling chips to the center of the table and nodded to the dealer. “Let’s deal again, shall we?”

Connor’s mouth fell open as he saw Nicholas’ outrageous bet. He babbled something under his breath as Nicholas picked the dice up. “Nicholas, I—”

Nicholas stilled him with an outstretched hand. “Connor, tonight is the last night of our grand tour. It will not end in ill luck. Trust me.”

Connor straightened and shook his head. “All right then.”

With a single-handed flourish, Nicholas snatched the dice from the table and threw them in the air. They somersaulted twice and landed side-by-side at the corner of the table.

“Seven!” the dealer announced.

The crowd exploded in cheer. Nicholas’ face did not change. He moved with inhuman calm as he scraped the sum total of his winnings from the center of the table.

Connor watched, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You are one lucky man.”

Nicholas wagged a finger at him. “What do I always tell you, my good man? There is no such thing as luck.”

Connor smiled as he leaned back into his chair, stretching arms wide across the arm rest. They had enjoyed many good nights at Denton’s Gentlemen’s Club. Situated at the corner of St. James Square, it was a place where all men of means met to revel in the merits of their station. What set the club apart was its famous policy of secrecy—whatever happened at Denton’s stayed at Denton’s. No stories left its doors.

Nicholas had both his father’s reputation as a gambler of wicked luck and his father’s golden membership token, stamped by the late Sir George Denton himself. It felt good to be back within the walls of the Denton’s Gentlemen’s Club after so many years away. On this, the very last night of their grand tour, Nicholas was determined to have his fair share of fun and frivolity to take his mind from the troubles that always seemed to resurface whenever he returned to London.

“What’s on your mind?” Connor asked, shaking him from his contemplation.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Why do you suspect something is on my mind?”

“You never play dice games. You’ve always told me that card games are the only true sport here and you have that faraway look in your eyes—like you are only half here.”

Nicholas gave a deep sigh. Connor knew him far too well.

“It is my mother,” Nicholas admitted.

Connor leaned forward. “What is wrong with her? Is she all right?”

Nicholas nodded. “She is fine, it is just…” He hesitated a moment, then continued, “…she is particularly keen that her wishes for my future be hastily accomplished in marriage.”

Connor laughed. “Ah, she is putting you on the marriage mart.”

Nicholas nodded. “She is. I understand she has already drawn up a list of veritable dowdies who would make a suitable match on account of their family connections and station.”

“Is that not a good thing? Do you not want to be married? You are certainly old enough now Nicholas.”

Nicholas narrowed his eyes. “I do want to be married. I truly do. But not on anyone else’s terms but my own and certainly not now. I would much rather learn the intricacies of business and commerce with my father than be tied down in marriage to the bore or dowdy of my mother’s choosing.”

Connor snorted. “What does your father think?”

“My father and I are quite aligned. His pre-eminent concern is to bring me into the folds of the family shipping business and tutor me in the ways of commerce. He wants me to be a captain of the industry before I am completely in my middle years.”

“And that is what you want?” Connor asked.

Nicholas sighed. “What I want is not quite so simple as any option my father and mother have provided. In all things my utmost desire is to live in fullness. In matters of both business and marriage I want my life to be prosecuted with a measure of beauty, passion, and perspective. Is that too much for one too ask?”

“Far too much,” Connor said with a laugh.

Nicholas gave a small grin. “In either case, my parents are almost at odds over the entire matter. I fear they will go to the grave fighting over my future.”

“There are a great many benefits to being a bachelor,” Connor said, “freedom most of all.”

He gestured around the room, decorated with gilded columns and pilasters, glimmering medallions and elaborate cut-glass luster.

Nicholas nodded. “I think that is what I want most of all. Freedom.”

Nicholas summoned a waiter and collected two glasses of whiskey. He passed a glass to Connor and raised the other high. “A toast to freedom,” Nicholas said.

“To freedom!” Connor agreed.

Their glasses made a soft clink when they touched, and they threw back their drinks.

Almost as soon as their drinks were gone, some women strode into the room. Connor’s laughter retreated to silence as he narrowed his eyes on the woman at the head of the group. She was slender, with even complexion. Her dress was tight to her form; it was a stunning red velvet without a hint of frippery. She smiled at them as she walked, each step an act of practiced grace.

She walked past them, and Nicholas took in the thick powdery musk of her perfume.

Connor licked his lips with anticipation as he followed them with his eyes. “What a wonderful night this might turn out to be.”

Nicholas straightened as he gave his friend an appraising look. In their five years on grand tour, Connor Walsh had proven himself to be a flirt of incredible repute. Only a few moments in the company of women was enough to set them to giggling and fluttering eyelashes. Hardly a city, town, or village passed them by on grand tour without Connor enticing one woman or the other to complete ruination. Daughters and sisters across the land had all been taken in by his playful grin and bottomless charm on their travels. But this was London.

Connor glanced over his shoulder at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that we are home now. I am certain that your uncle, the Duke of Waleshire, will not be pleased if you earn a reputation as a rogue in London.”

Connor shrugged his hand away. “I understand His Grace has his own hands quite full trying to marry his daughter off. Word is, she has rejected more suitors than all the women in London combined.”

“Even still. You can manage not being an unconscionable flirt for at least one night, I hope.”

Connor let his shoulders fall and raised his chin. “I suppose,” he said, turning his grin away from the women. “I suppose I should behave more like you tonight.”

Connor had not meant it as an insult but somehow it still managed to feel like a slight. Nicholas had—even as children—always been the more cautious of the pair when it came to women. He had just as much charm and self-command as Connor, but he always felt himself choosing to be reserved when in the company of women who did stimulate his intrigue. He would much rather spend his time in solitude than in the company of a woman who lacked the humor, intelligence, and wit to engage him in body and mind. The pursuit of women whose only interest in men blossomed on account of the largesse of their legacy did not interest him in the same way that it did Connor. If he was to pursue a woman in earnest, it had to be real and true.

He turned to his friend Connor and gave him a wide smile. “Perhaps we should play a game of Whist instead? It has been a while since we had the prospect of good opposition.”

Connor nodded with approval. “I would enjoy that.”

The hall before them was filled with groups of men playing games of chance, skill, and utter ruination. Here and there, courtesans prowled the room with feline grace, crooning and fluttering fans.

Nicholas directed his friend to a small table where a group of gentlemen were engaged in a game of Whist. They were allowed to join and Nicholas could immediately tell that these were men of some skill by the way the cards were dealt and handled.

As Whist partners, Connor and Nicholas were a formidable pair; the perfect balance of caution and imprudence, recklessness, and contemplation. Connor had a mind for the cards and a habit of reading his opponents gestures and manners to devastating effect. Nicholas was judicious and cool in his evaluation of the game.

They played and drank with equal gusto, allowing themselves to revel completely in this their last night of grand tour, the conclusion of one adventure-filled chapter and the inevitable introduction of another equally adventurous experience.

After their third round of whiskey, Connor slapped Nicholas around the shoulder with a wide, delirious smile. “Welcome back to London, my friend. We are going to have a fantastic time.”

Chapter Two

Holly tapped her foot silently as Mr. Winstead, the house butler, placed their teapot at the center of their table. There were four other women seated around the table—each one of them at least twice Holly’s age. Her mother, Jane Walsh, the Duchess of Waleshire, was the oldest of the women and in many respects their leader. She stared intently at Holly as the tea was poured into their cups. Holly avoided her gaze by staring up at the mural which adorned the drawing room ceiling, pretending not to notice the hot attention on her.

“So, Holly,” her mother began, “how was the Spiningdale Ball?”

Holly squirmed in her seat. It was getting more difficult with each passing event to explain to her mother why she had rejected the advances of the many eligible men who offered to dance with her.

“It was wonderful,” she lied.

The Duchess of Waleshire narrowed her eyes. “I did notice you dance with someone. His Grace, the Duke of Exenwood.”

Holly colored violently. She had hoped her mother hadn’t noticed.

“Yes, I did dance with His Grace,” Holly admitted.

Her mother’s lips curled into a smile. “Excellent. Tell me, did you let him know that the doors of Waleshire Manor are always open to him? He is of course a good business acquaintance of your father.”

Holly nodded. “I know and I am sure he knows he is welcomed here.”

The Duchess looked unimpressed but gratefully did not press the matter. “I am only looking out for you my dear daughter. I want you to be happy and to marry well.”

“I know, Mother,” Holly said.

“You have had so many eligible suitors. I hope this will be the Season you finally settle on one.”

Holly lowered her eyes. “I hope so, too.”

She sincerely did hope so. She hoped to settle on the one. Dancing at the ball had only strengthened the notion that the Duke of Exenwood was the perfect match in every way. Handsome, polite, gentle, and passionate. Everything she could ever want in a husband. She only needed to resolve the small matter of Lady Viola and help the Duke see that they were meant for each other.

Sybil’s mother, the Countess of Spiningdale took a small sip from her teacup and cleared her throat. “You have the most fantastic cheekbones, dear Holly, and your complexion is rather wonderful. I am almost certain that the right partner will come your way soon.”

Holly gave a small smile. “Thank you, My Lady.”

She retrieved a bundle of papers, tied together with a small bow, and began to slowly untie the collection. Holly knew that the papers could only be the gossip sheets from the last week. Women like her mother and Lady Sybil were known to devote hours to speculating and discussing the scandals contained in the gossip sheets until their tea ran cold. In truth, Holly had always believed that the true object of her mother’s routine tea parties was to discuss the latest scandal detailed in the gossip columns.

Holly herself was never fond of the gossip columns. She found them often to be full of idle speculation and sometimes even cruel in their allusions. It was rare for names to be published, but the codes and aliases used to disguise the identity of the subjects were deliberately easy to see through—especially for the women around her mother’s table.

“Have we read this week’s gossip sheets?” Lady Sybil asked.

She had asked the question with a cool, inexpressive glance as though it was not of great importance. But Holly knew that the scandal reports were the chief entertainment for all these gatherings.

“Not yet,” Holly’s mother said, “nothing interesting this week.”

Lady Sybil pulled the first paper from the bundle as though seeing it for the first time. She retrieved her horn-rimmed eyeglasses and read aloud:

“The Duke and the Diamond.”

Holly felt her heart sink. The Duke and the Diamond. There was no doubt whom the headline was referring to. The Diamond had been the subject of many gossip columns in the weeks since the Season began. It could only be Lady Viola Acton. The Duke then, could only be the Duke of Exenwood. Harold. Her Harold.

Holly’s mother gave her a brief, appraising glance before turning to Lady Sybil. “What does it say?”

Holly raised her teacup to her mouth to cover her quivering lips.

Lady Sybil cleared her throat. “It says here that His Grace, one of London’s most eligible young gentlemen, was seen having ices at Gunter’s Tea Shop with none other than the Diamond of the Season.”

Only when her teacup shattered on the drawing room table did Holly realize that it had slipped from her grasp. She jerked back as the hot tea spilled over the sides of the table down unto her dress.

Mr. Winstead appeared at her side, using a hand towel and apron to wipe down the spillage before it could stain the carpet.

“Are you all right, Holly?” her mother asked.

Holly narrowed her eyes and nodded. “I am fine, Mother, just …tired.”

All four women gave her a puzzled look before Lady Sybil lowered her teacup. “Should I go on?” she asked, staring down at the open gossip sheets.

Holly’s mother gave her a questioning look. Plainly the woman wanted Holly to be a part of the discussion but only if the revelations in the gossip column would not startle her.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Holly said pushing her seat back slightly, “I need to go to change my dress, it has been stained.”

Holly’s mother gave her a mournful look but nodded. “Do come back.”

Holly nodded. “I will, Mother.”

With that, she left the table in haste. Before she was out the door, she could already hear her mother restart the gossip with her friends. Her cheeks were hot with color as she broke off into the corridor and up the stairs that led to her bedchamber. She stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind her as she slumped to the floor. The Duke and the Diamond.

If she knew anything about the gossip columns, they would feature the story for at least the next week. Every article with more particular detail of the liaison between the Duke and the Diamond—what flavor their ices were, how long they spent, how much they smiled.

Holly glanced at herself in the mirror. How could she stand a chance against someone like Lady Viola Acton? A lady who had been named the Diamond of the Season with no objection from the rest of the Ton. She was not quite as tall as Lady Viola, nor was she as slender. Her hair fell in silky golden tresses, and her eyes were the bright cerulean of the deep sea. Her cheekbones at least were well regarded but she felt as though she was no competition to the likes of Lady Viola Acton.

A knock sounded at her door as she stared in the mirror.

“Who is it?”

The voice that answered was strong and assured, “your mother.”

Holly straightened and answered the door.

The Duchess of Waleshire seemed to glide into the room, her chin raised and her back straight as she moved. She was what Holly wanted to be in so many ways—elegant, beautiful, always in control.

“Your guests, Mother,” Holly said.

The Duchess made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “They will be fine, I just wanted to make sure that you were quite all right. You seemed quite shaken in the drawing room a moment ago.”

Holly drew in a deep breath. “I am fine, Mother. Thank you.”

The Duchess brushed a tress of hair aside and cradled Holly’s chin. “You are so beautiful Holly, and intelligent and bright. I hope you know that your father will do anything and everything within our power to give you what you want in life.”

Holly nodded. “I know, Mother.”

The Duchess smiled. “There are some things of course, we cannot give to you, but sometimes what you want is not what you need.”

Holly snorted, unsure if her mother referred to the Duke of Exenwood but managed to keep her expression even. “I—”

Another knock sounded at the door. Both Holly and Her Grace glanced instinctively at the door.

“Who is it?” Holly asked.

“Miriam, My Lady,” came the pitched, diffident voice of her lady’s maid.

Holly stepped toward the door and opened it. Miriam stood in the doorway, brushing her hands over her apron nervously.

“Some more guests have arrived, My Lady,” she said, glancing past Holly to the Duchess.

“Guests?” the Duchess asked, striding forward.

Miriam nodded. “The Honorable Mr. Connor Walsh.”

The Duchess gave a small smile. “At last, Connor has returned from his grand tour.” She eased past Miriam into the corridor. “I will leave you to tend to your dress, Holly. I must attend to your cousin.”

“Of course, Mother,” Holly replied.

With that, her mother nodded and followed Miriam down the corridor. Holly shut the door behind them and quickly began to find an appropriate dress. It had been at least five years since she had seen her cousin Connor and she was quite eager to see him again. It was a welcome distraction if nothing else. Anything to take her mind from the Duke and the diamond.

The dress she thought most appropriate was not in her wardrobe and she scratched her chin wondering as to its whereabouts. The scullery. Some of her clothes had only just last week been laundered.

She tugged her bell rope to summon help with fetching the dress but after a moment of waiting, no one came.

She sucked in a breath, brushed down her skirt and stepped out into the corridor. It was quiet, but she could hear the soft shuffle of feet a little further down the hall. She turned in the direction of the noise expecting to see a servant answering her bell rope. Instead, two gentlemen came into view.

The shorter of the pair, was her cousin Connor. His time away had left his face untouched, save for light whiskers at the side of his familiar smile. Their eyes met and his smile deepened as it always did when he used to tease her as a child. Holly smiled back at him but could not smile for long. Almost as soon as she saw the gentleman standing next to Connor, the breath caught in her throat.

He was tall with shoulders built for lifting. His thick tailcoat extended to the knee but could not disguise the lean, powerful shape of his calves. Even dressed as he was, it was plain that the man was cut all the way through from lean muscle. He did not smile when their eyes met, but his cinnamon brown eyes seemed to glisten at the sight of her. For a moment, Holly found herself unable to look away. Something about the man sent a strange flutter up her sternum. His eyes were dark as sin but carried a glint of earnestness that seemed faintly familiar. Where do I know him from?

Her cousin Connor cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “My dearest cousin, so good to see you.”

Holly drew in a breath and gathered herself. She could still feel the strange man’s dark eyes on her. The man was almost staring.

She avoided his gaze and turned to her cousin and dipping in a low curtsey. “It is a great pleasure to see you returned safely to us, cousin.”

Connor gave a small bow and looked up at her. “You have grown. You are not quite the little girl I left behind.”

“Everything changes with time,” Holly said with a gentle nod.

Connor touched his chin and looked up to the taller man next to him. When he realized that the man was still staring at Holly, he narrowed his eyes and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. The man’s eyes did not move. Not even a little.

Connor cleared his throat once more. “Where are my manners? I am yet to make proper introductions. Well, in this case, re-introductions.”

Holly’s eyes widened. She had seen the man before. She raised an eyebrow as her cousin stepped forward to speak.

“I don’t suppose you remember this gentleman?” Connor said, placing a hand on the taller man’s shoulder.

Holly squinted, looking at the stranger again. He had removed his hat—likely upon entering the manor house—letting short curls of ash blond hair fall across his face. He had strong features. A face of blades and sharpness. Only in his eyes could softness be found. Their eyes met again and without knowing why, Holly shrank back.

“I apologize,” Holly said, “I don’t remember you, My Lord.”

If the stranger was disappointed, his face did not show it. He only lifted his chin ever-so-slightly as though to make it easier to look down on her.

“This is…” Connor hesitated, noticing something on Holly’s dress. “Your dress,” he said, pointing.

She colored as the memory of her mission to the scullery returned to her. How embarrassing. She covered the stain with her hand and stepped back from the pair. “I managed to spill some tea on it only a moment ago,” she explained.

“Oh, dear,” Connor said.

“If you would forgive me, good sirs, I must attend to my dress.”

“Of course,” Connor said, stepping aside.

The stranger only narrowed his eyes and nodded.

Their eyes met one last time and that strange flutter in her stomach returned. Sudden as a slap, she could recall where she had seen the man before. Nicholas.

It had been some time since she had last seen him, but now it seemed obvious it was him. His body had transformed and everything about his face had changed but his quiet earnestness remained the same. Looking at him, it was as if a sculptor had worked to chisel his once baby-round face to strong, masculine sharpness.

In her childhood, Nicholas had always been right next to Connor in teasing and making fun of her. A quiet boy at the most of times but with a sharp, barbarous wit. Now, here he stood, all the way a man with a look that spoke to all the new experience of his grand tour. Everything changes with time.

Perhaps it was the sudden glint of recognition in her eyes or her undue hesitation in departing. Whatever it was, Nicholas did not say a word. He opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it and only stared down at her.

They stood there, in strange silence for a moment. She felt the color rise to her cheeks and blinked as her hand fell to the side. Then she sucked in breath, hunched her shoulders and gave a faint smile. “If you would be so kind as to excuse me, my lords.”

They both gave gentle nods of affirmation.

With that, she made her way past them in the corridor, shifting hastily to avoid any cause for a backward glance.

***

Nicholas watched her walk away, his stare barely shifting from her silhouette. She remembered me. It was nice to know that he had not become a forgotten anecdote in the years he had spent away. When he left five years ago, Lady Holly Walsh had been late in her girlhood. More likely to be caught running barefooted through the gardens than to be fretting over a tea stain on her dress. She was only a few years younger than him, but it was astounding how much she had seemed to grow in the time since he had been on grand tour. When she spoke, it took an almost inhuman effort not to consider her lips. When he had tried to avoid her lips, he found himself staring at her elegant neck. When he managed to drive his eyes away from her neck, his gaze found her bosom. At last, he found himself staring into her eyes—pools of endless blue-green and more arresting than anything before. She was all woman now, he made no mistake.

Nicholas had traveled far and wide and met more than his fair share of women, but it had been many years since he’d been struck by such an unmistakeable pang of intrigue as when he saw Lady Holly under the lantern light.

It was not simply that she was pretty. Of that, there had never been a doubt—she was beautiful by any measure. There was more to her—something completely invisible that seemed to heighten her appeal. It ran deeper than mere beauty and he could not manage to figure out exactly what it was. He rubbed his chin as her silhouette disappeared around the corner. Now is not the time for a lady. His father’s shipping company, he had long decided, was his priority. He tightened his fist and forced himself to look away.

Connor gave a low groan to draw his attention.

Nicholas turned toward his old friend with a pointedly nonchalant turn. “What was it we used to call her again?”

A mischievous smile spread across Connor’s face. “Holly the Dolly.”

Nicholas nodded with a small smile. “She was so skinny with those long arms.”

“And the pigtails she always wore,” added Connor.

A moment of silence passed. “She is not quite so skinny anymore,” Nicholas said, “and her arms suit her size now.”

Connor gave him an appraising look. “I suppose so.”

Nicholas felt color rising to his cheeks and quickly changed the subject. “Perhaps you can show me around this place again, it has been far too long.”

Connor smiled and stepped forward. “With pleasure.”

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