Chapter One

      Mayfair, London—1819

      There was no mistaking the inviting look in the eyes of the widow as she studied Lord Andrew Pearce across the coffin of her dead husband.

      In a stealthy manoeuvre, Andrew shifted his leg and ground the heel of his boot into his brother Gabriel’s foot, determined to scuff the impeccable black leather. It would serve him right for dragging Andrew here. In true ducal fashion Gabriel exhibited no reaction, aside from the slight clench of his jaw.

      It was all his brother’s fault Andrew was being subjected to this. As the eldest, Gabriel had informed his brothers it was their family’s duty to pay their respects, even though they all hated the man.

      It was the thing to do. It was only proper.

      And Andrew was counting the minutes until it was over.

      Being this close to a dead body was hard enough, bringing back memories he would just as soon forget. But the attention from the widow of the newly deceased Twelfth Duke of Skeffington in addition to that was making this unbearable.

      At nine and twenty, Elizabeth, the Duchess of Skeffington, was only two years younger than Andrew. With her thick black hair, big brown eyes and graceful figure she was considered by many to be a diamond of the first water. However, Andrew wasn’t attracted to her. Even knowing she was going to be a very wealthy widow did little to make her any more enticing.

      She was a woman who appeared obsessed with rank and prestige. As the brother of a duke, he had experienced his fair share of people who were interested in him only for his family connections. And as a duchess in her own right, he assumed her prejudice against families of lower status was one of the reasons she always seemed interested in him. There were very few ducal families in Britain. Her choices were limited. However, he didn’t want a wife.

      The Duchess slipped a wayward tendril of black hair over her ear and offered him a shy smile. If Gabriel noticed her attention had been fixed on Andrew since they entered the room, he gave no indication. However, Monty, on his other side, pressed his knee firmly into Andrew’s leg. At least one of his brothers was aware of his plight.

      ‘You have our condolences, Elizabeth,’ Gabriel said, over the murmur of voices from the other mourners in the ballroom that was darkened with black cloth around the windows.

      Her attention finally shifted away from Andrew to Gabriel, and she gave his brother a polite smile. ‘Thank you for coming to pay your respects. It’s no secret you and Skeffington were on opposing sides on many issues through the years.’

      ‘We were. His death did come as a shock, even with his advanced age. He just addressed the House on Monday.’

      Monty tilted his head and eyed the outline of the short thin body lying before them under the shroud. ‘Forgive me, but I’ve not heard what caused his demise. Was he suffering from an illness?’ Andrew’s younger brother asked.

      ‘He choked on a chicken bone during dinner. The footmen were not able to save him.’ It was said with such a calm demeanour, one had to wonder if she had been present to witness what must have been a ghastly event.

      Andrew’s heart began to pound harder. He knew what it was like to watch someone die. Taking a step back, he looked away from the dead body in front of him and tried to push the memories out of his head. Over the years he had become adept at locking them away, but this was bringing them all back. He should have refused to come today.

      As if he realised Andrew was ready to bolt from the room, Gabriel made a move to end the conversation and Andrew’s torture. ‘Well, I’m sure there are many others here who wish to pay their respects. We will not keep you any further.’

      Andrew’s sense of unease at being around this much death was starting to lift. Until the Duchess stepped around the coffin and called softly to him as he turned to walk towards the door with his brothers.

      He squeezed his eyes shut before turning to face her. ‘Yes, Your Grace?’

      She gave him a small smile as she started to blush. ‘You may call me Elizabeth. We’ve been acquainted with one another for twelve years.’

      ‘But I’d never presume to be on such intimate terms with you.’ It was paramount he stated that, since he had no intention of becoming so familiar with Skeffington’s widow.

      ‘But