e chapel to Crestwood Man

Broderick sat opposite, his long legs stretched out, his expression as unreadable as the stone walls of his ancestral home.

ive way to rolling green countryside, her mind a whirl

ent beast of gray stone and towering spires, a fortress

ere the wedding reception was already underway: a sea o

ture perfectly correct and utterly impersonal. The warmth of his palm seeped through

ce a low rumble, as he introduced her to ste

stant smile. She inclined her head. She murmured the correct

mixture of envy for her new title and a deep, almost morbid pity. They l

widely known secret. Her choice, which had seemed so madly impuls

im‑faced men from the Privy Council corne

s. Find a place to rest." It was a command, but with a subtle undertone sh

ressure around her eased. She felt a

guided by her loyal maid Nora, who had followed her from her

orchestra and chatter faded to a distant hum. Nora, her face etched w

ur Ladyship. Are you a

luminated by the golden light spilling from the ballroom windows. For the first tim

er voice soft but firm. "I am

The abyss of public ruin. The desperate lea

astrous hand, and she ha

er and influence, respected and feared by all. And, m

he perfe

over her shoulder. She could begin to untangle the secrets of her past-to investigate the conveni

finally se

e ministers. He was cold, distant-but he was a man of honor. He had accepted

r part, as long as she was the perfect, unimpeachabl

omething she hadn't felt in

aughter, the disposable pawn. She was Adel

sing tray and held it up in a silent toast

ongratulate you. Who kne

ith false sweetness,

rrace, her smile a slash of red in the moonlight. Her eye

pping back into place-the same polite,

ve a slight nod, a gesture of a superior to

f champagne, then met

ht and conversational. "I do hope Father's finances can continue

jab, delivered with perfect ar

the view, leaving her stepmo