LITMIR.BIZ

      To my great friends Meryl Sawyer, Ciji Ware

      and Gloria Dale Skinner for their help

      on this trilogy. Love you guys!

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter Twenty-Six

      Epilogue

      Author’s Note

      Prologue

      England, 1804

      A soft creak in the hallway awakened her. Victoria Temple Whiting sat upright in bed, straining toward the sound. The faint noise came again, footsteps passing her bedchamber, continuing down the hall, pausing in front of the door to her sister’s room.

      Tory swung her legs to the side of the bed, her heart racing now, pounding in her ears. There was no lock on Claire’s door. Their stepfather, the baron, wouldn’t allow it. Tory heard the click of the silver knob turning, then the soft glide of shoes on carpet as someone walked into the room.

      She knew who it was. She had known this day would come, known the baron would finally act on the lust he felt for Claire. Desperate to protect her sister, Tory rose quickly, grabbed her blue quilted wrapper off the foot of the bed and raced out into the hall. Claire’s room was two doors down. She made her way there as quietly as possible, legs trembling, her palms so slick she could barely turn the doorknob.

      She wiped her hands on her wrapper and tried again, successful this time, opening the door and stepping silently into the darkness of the room. Her stepfather stood next to the bed, a long, shadowy figure in the dim light coming in through the mullioned window. Tory stiffened at his low-murmured words, the fear she heard in Claire’s voice.

      “Stay away from me,” Claire pleaded.

      “I won’t hurt you. Just lie still and let me do what I want.”

      “No. I w-want you to get out of my room.”

      “Be quiet,” the baron said more sharply. “Unless you want your sister to awaken. I think you can guess what will happen to her if she comes in here.”

      Claire whimpered. “Please don’t hurt Tory.” But both of them knew he would. Her back still carried the marks of an earlier caning, the punishment her stepfather, Miles Whiting, Baron Harwood, had delivered for some minor infraction she could now scarcely recall.

      “Do as I say then and just lie still.”

      Claire made a sound in her throat and Tory fought down a wave of fury. Slipping around behind the baron, her nails digging into the palms of her hands, she inched closer. She knew what her stepfather meant to do, knew that if she tried to stop him, she would suffer another beating and sooner or later he would still hurt Claire.

      Tory bit her lip, forcing down her anger, trying to think what she should do. She had to stop him. No matter what happened, she couldn’t let him touch her sister.

      Then her gaze lit on the brass bed warmer next to the hearth. The coals inside had long grown cold, but the bowl was heavy with the ashes left inside. She reached down and gripped the wooden handle, silently lifting the instrument up off the hearth.

      Claire made another whimpering sound. Tory took two steps closer to where the baron leaned over Claire and swung the heavy brass bed warmer. Harwood made a sort of grunting noise and toppled over onto the floor.

      Her hands shook. The bed warmer hit the floor with a soft clunk, spilling spent coals and black ash all over the Aubusson carpet. Claire leaped up from the bed and started running toward her, threw herself into Tory’s arms.

      “He was…he kept touching me.” She made a funny little choking noise and held on tighter. “Oh, Tory, you came just in time.”

      “It’s all right, darling. You’re safe now. I won’t let him hurt you again.”

      Trembling all over, Claire turned toward the man lying on the rug, a dark streak of blood running from the gash at his temple. “Did you…did you kill him?”

      Tory gazed at the baron’s still form and swayed a little on her feet. She took a breath to steady herself. It was dark in the room, but a sliver of moonlight slanted in through the mullioned window. She could see the scarlet stain spreading beneath Harwood’s head. His chest didn’t seem to be moving, but she couldn’t tell for sure.

      “We have to get out of here,” she said, fighting an urge to run. “Put on your wrapper and get your satchel out from under the bed. I’ll go get mine and meet you at the bottom of the servants’ stairs.”

      “I—I need to change out of my bedclothes.”

      “There isn’t time. We’ll change somewhere along the road.”

      The journey wasn’t unexpected.

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