Chapter One
Rows of red lanterns hung from the trees in the Grove at Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. The clang of cymbals drew everyone’s gaze to the Prussian military band settling into their seats in the bandstand. Those already merry on punch tutted and moaned for they preferred the light-hearted country dancing to the solemn sound of a soldier’s drum.
Lady Lillian Sandford jumped upon hearing the high-pitched call of the bugle. “They should give us a warning before blasting out a tune.”
Her brother, Ross Sandford, Marquess of Trevane, snorted in amusement. “A bugle call is a warning. It’s supposed to get the crowd’s attention.”
The loud bang of drums sent Lillian’s nerves scattering. Though of late, it did not take much to unsettle her equilibrium. The image of the black coach flashed into her mind. For three consecutive nights, she’d witnessed the conveyance crawl around Berkeley Square before stopping beneath the lamp outside her window. Perhaps the coachman meant to frighten her with his pockmarked face and toothless grin. Perhaps his beady stare was an ominous warning. But for what?
She’d seen the same coach this evening, parked on Mount Street.
By rights, she should mention it to Vane, but her brother’s need to protect her proved stifling. Guilt formed the basis of his obsessive nature. He’d been her shadow for the last two years. No one dared speak of her shame in his presence. No one looked her way for fear of encountering Vane’s wrath. He’d shot the rogue who ruined her and would pull a pistol on any man who attempted to do so again.
As the music grew in pitch and tempo, Lillian clutched Vane’s arm.
He cast her a sidelong glance. “What is it? You’re shivering. Has someone spoken out of turn?” Straightening to his full height, he scoured the crowd, his eyes ablaze and ready to rain bolts of fire on anyone who so much as looked in their direction.
“Of course not.” No one conversed with her. “To these people, I'm invisible.” The tightness in her chest made it hard to breathe, and she touched the gold locket at her throat for it always brought comfort. “I’m the only lady who hasn't danced.”
Respectable gentlemen considered her a leper. Rakes and scoundrels treated her as they would a nun — a woman strictly out of bounds, not one of superior status. And so she lingered within an empty void, unworthy in every regard.
“Why would you want to court attention from these degenerates?” Vane gestured to the two fools standing to their left, laughing as they marched to the band’s rhythmical beat.
“I do not want attention, Vane, but it would be nice for someone to acknowledge I exist.” Was a nod or a genuine smile from a gentleman too much to ask? “Is it wrong to crave companionship? Perhaps then I might not feel so alone.”
Vane frowned. “You’re not alone. You have me.”
How could she tell him she was suffocating under the weight of his protection? How could she hurt him when he’d given up everything to keep her safe? “After all that occurred with Lord Martin—”
“Do not dare utter that rogue’s name in my presence.” A dark expression marred Vane’s handsome countenance. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make things right.”
“You could talk to me. Something is troubling you. After months of hiding indoors, we’ve spent the last week traipsing up and down every street in London, and yet you refuse to tell me why.”
Vane turned his head so she had no hope of reading his reaction.
“And why insist on coming to Vauxhall?” she continued, determined to have an answer. “There are hundreds of people here tonight. Must you torture me like this?”
That got his attention. He swung around, his blue eyes hard and unyielding. “Torture you? I’ve not slept in days.”
The admission brought a wave of relief. At least Vane’s odd mood was not a figment of her imagination.
Lillian touched his arm. “You can be honest with me, Vane. If you’re tired of living in the shadows, if—”