England, 1812

DECEPTION DID NOT suit her. In the past, Emily Maitland had always prided herself on her honesty. In the past, she had never told a lie of any proportion. Yet, the lie she had created three weeks ago in London was more than just your average size prevarication. No, her first foray into the fabrication of fact was about the size of Gibraltar. And she could feel that lie pressing against her chest, like a solid chunk of frozen granite.

Emily stood in a corner of the ballroom in her parents’ home near Bristol, staring at the swarm of guests gathered beneath the glitter of crystal chandeliers to celebrate her recent marriage. If she was not certain one of her family or friends would question her absence, she would escape the crowd, retreat to her room, and hide like a coward.

“I know how you must feel, celebrating tonight while you wonder if he is safe. Believe me I know.” Marisa Grantham squeezed her hand. “We must have faith he will return to you soon.”

Emily looked into the concerned blue eyes of one of her closest friends and fought the words clawing at her throat. What would she think if Marisa knew the truth? Would she ever forgive her for deceiving her in this way? “Mari, you and Meg are my dearest friends in the world. You know that.”

Marisa smiled, a look of curiosity flitting across her beautiful face. “Of course I know, silly.”

“You know I would never wish to hide anything from you.” Emily drew a deep breath, catching the mingled scents of various sweet waters hovering in the warm room. “And you also know I would never in my life put you or Meg in a position that would threaten your integrity.”

Marisa tilted her head, a raven curl brushing her shoulder. She regarded Emily in that singular way she had that came when sharp intelligence melded with an inquisitive nature. “Emily, you know you can tell me anything.”

Emily wondered if she might share this burden. She glanced to the dance floor where Margaret Drummond was gliding through the steps of a country dance. In the past few years Marisa, Meg, and Emily had shared each London Season. They had also shared their dreams, their joys, and their secrets. The friendship they had forged had helped each of them survive Town life. There was one secret she had not shared with them.

Emily stiffened when she noticed her grandmother step from a crowd of people near one of the refreshment tables. Dear heaven, she was headed in Emily’s direction. One look at Lady Harriet Whitcomb’s face, and Emily knew her grandmother was not pleased with her performance this night. She marched through the crowd with all the purpose of an arrow headed for her target. Emily drew in her breath and prepared for the worst as Lady Harriet drew near.

“Is something wrong?” Marisa asked.

“No. Nothing is wrong. You were right, Mari. I’m simply concerned about him.” It was the truth. Emily was concerned about him, but not for the reasons Marisa believed.

Marisa squeezed Emily’s hand. “I know how difficult it is, worrying about him. At least you know when he does return, he will return to you.”

Emily saw the sadness in her friend’s eyes, knew the reason behind that lingering pain, and felt even worse for her own deception. Marisa deserved more from her. She deserved her complete honesty. Yet Emily knew that honesty would only prove a burden.

Lady Harriet smiled as she joined them. “Mari, dear. I believe Mr. Haverleigh is looking for you. Did you perhaps promise him this dance?”

Marisa looked surprised. “No. I’m certain I did not.”

Lady Harriet patted her arm. “Would you be a dear and dance with him, before he starts following you about like a lost lamb? I’m afraid he will run into one of the potted palms the way that Carsten boy fell into the refreshment table at the Andover ball last April. As I recall he was trying to slip past one of your beaux and ended up with a tray of cake on his head.”

“I always find it remarkable the way certain gentlemen can make complete cakes of themselves.” Marisa laughed, the sound melding with the music. She squeezed Emily’s hand before leaving her alone with Lady Harriet.

“Mark my words, that handsome child shall cause a riot one day.” Lady Harriet took Emily’s arm. “The gentleman who wins her hand shall do us all a service.”

Emily didn’t resist as her grandmother led her to a nearby alcove, where two gilt trimmed chairs sat beneath a large gilt trimmed mirror. She remained standing, holding Emily’s arm, smiling as though she had something pleasant to discuss. Yet the hard glitter in her green eyes told Emily another story.

“Emily dear, you look as though you are waiting to be marched to the gallows. We don’t want your guests wondering what is wrong with you. Do we? You didn’t share our little secret with Mari. Did you?”

“No. But I do so wish I might.”

“We agreed not to share this with anyone. And I do mean anyone. You must remain strong.”

“Look at all of these people, Grandmama,” Emily whispered, her voice nearly drowned by the bright notes flowing from the orchestra perched high in the minstrels’ gallery on the far side of the room. “They all believe this monstrous lie.”

Harriet squeezed Emily’s arm. The warmth of her palm radiated through the buff kid leather, like a brand against Emily’s cool skin. “May I suggest the rather obvious fact that we want them to believe this monstrous lie?”

“I know. I simply didn’t realize it would be this difficult. I despise deceiving everyone.”

Harriet laughed softly, as though Emily had just said something witty. “You have little choice but to grow accustomed to deception, my dear. At least in this matter.”

“I keep thinking of how disappointed Mama and Papa would be if they knew the truth of what I have done.”

“Precisely why I suggest we never allow them to discover the truth. I doubt they would have much sympathy for either one of us.”

Emily watched her parents as they glided through the steps of a cotillion. Small, with dark hair and green eyes, Audrey Maitland looked like a young girl dancing with her first love. The way she gazed up at her tall, fair haired husband mirrored the adoration in Hugh Maitland’s brown eyes as he smiled down at his handsome wife.

Emily had never seen a couple more in love than her parents. Growing up with that love as a standard for what she expected from her future marriage was part of the reason Emily found herself in this horrible situation tonight. She had tried desperately to prevent this lavish party. Yet, her parents had insisted. She truly believed they wanted to prove to the world their eldest daughter had finally managed to comply with their wishes.

“I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to face everyone and maintain this illusion we have created. I feel as though I’m betraying everyone. I know I would feel better if I could tell Mari and Meg. And Anna. I have never in my entire life kept a secret from Anna.”

“Only three people? You would force only three of the girls you care most about to share your burden?”

Emily moistened her lips. “I know. It is selfish to even think of it.”

“Fortunately, Mari and Meg are both leaving tomorrow. So the temptation to tell them will be gone. As far as your sister, you know that dear child could never bear the weight of a deception such as this.” Harriet tightened her grip on her granddaughter’s arm, her fingers pinching the skin beneath Emily’s short sleeve. “Emily, look at me.”

Emily tore her gaze from her trusting parents to look into her grandmother’s taut features. The few silver threads that streaked her dark red hair, the lines that crinkled at the corners of her eyes could not steal Harriet’s beauty, even though she was past sixty. Just how far past sixty she had progressed, no one knew. Lady Harriet Whitcomb, the dowager Countess of Durrington, believed every woman should keep a degree of mystery about her.

“I expect you to play your role well. You are not a green girl.”

Emily cringed at the reminder of her age. In three months she would attain the advanced age of three and twenty. She needed no reminders of the fact she was beyond the first blush of youth.

“You are not going to do anything foolish, are you my girl?” Harriet’s eyes were filled with an uneasy mixture of dread and determination. “You shall remember you convinced me this was your only hope. And of course, you will bear in mind that both of our reputations are now at stake. Your parents trusted me to guide you safely through London society.”

The responsibility of her deception rested across Emily’s shoulders like an iron yoke. If the truth were ever discovered the scandal would not only ruin Emily and her grandmother, but her entire family. No, she was far too tangled in her own web of lies to hope of escaping. She looked into her grandmother’s worried eyes and managed a smile. “I would do nothing to jeopardize my parents’ trust in you. I will not fail you.”

“Of course you won’t.” Harriet dropped her hand and frowned at the red marks her fingers had left on Emily’s arm below the emerald silk of her short sleeve. “You are after all my granddaughter. The only one of your sisters who had the excellent sense to inherit my looks.”

Emily rubbed the tingling flesh of her upper arm. “Mother has always said my temperament is related to my red hair.”

“Yes, well, you have also inherited my unfortunate propensity for being just a bit headstrong.” Harriet flicked open her fan, the gilt trimmed edge glittering in the candlelight. “Still, all in all, I am quite satisfied with how you have turned out, even if you are a trifle stubborn at times. You are, after all, quite an Original. Indeed, you remind me remarkably of myself at your age.”

Emily smiled as she thought of how her penchant for rich colors and medieval decoration had set her apart in the eyes of the ton. After her first disastrous Season, she had fashioned a mask of sophisticated elegance to protect herself from the horde of foppish bores, arrogant aristocrats, and charming fortune hunters that swarmed London. She had yet to find a gentleman interested in looking beyond the mask to the woman beneath.

“I have faith in you. And I believe you were justified in doing what you did. If not, I never would have agreed to this. Your parents were being quite unreasonable.”

“Thank you, Grandmama.”

Lady Harriet smiled. “Your parents were foolish to think they could control you in this manner. In a very real sense they brought this about. You must keep that in mind. I assure you, I keep reminding myself of all the reasons for this deception.”

Emily nodded. “I shall remain strong. I know what is at stake.”

“Grandmama! Emily!”

Emily turned as her sister Annabella glided toward her, her pale hair glowing in the golden candlelight cascading from the chandeliers.

“Is it not a wonderful party?” Anna waved her fan in an elegant sweep of the ballroom. “I cannot wait until my first London ball. I do hope it’s all I imagine it will be.”

Harriet smiled. “My dear, I am quite certain you will enjoy London. And London shall adore you.”

“Do you think so?” Anna clutched her fan to her chest. “They won’t think me too countrified?”

“They will think you a diamond of the first water.” Harriet smoothed her fingers over Anna’s flawless cheek. “You shall be a great success, my dear.”

A blush rose to brush a pink stain across Anna’s cheeks. “Oh, I do hope so.”

“We shall make certain of it.” Harriet snapped her fan closed. “Now, my sweetings. I see Lady Chadwick has arrived, and I really must speak with her.”

Emily watched her grandmother wend her way through the crowd surrounding the dance floor, making her way to where Lady Chadwick stood near the base of the three curving stairs leading from the entrance of the room into the swirling mass of people below. People stood aside to allow Lady Harriet passage as she sailed like a queen across the crowded room in her gown of dark blue sarsenet. No matter what, she would not betray her grandmother. She certainly would not risk a scandal. There was far too much as stake. It would all be fine. She simply had to keep her wits and…

A military man dressed in full regimentals walked through the entrance of the ballroom. He stood for a moment on the top stair, framed by the white arched entrance, looking across the room like a hunter seeking prey. Emily watched as he descended the stairs, a tingling sensation rippling through her. It was like watching a hawk descend into a covey of doves. Even from a distance she could sense an aura of danger about this man. She could imagine him astride a huge black stallion, like a knight of legend, leading his troops into battle. Looking at this commanding man she had little doubt he had only recently left the battlefields of the Peninsula.

Candlelight slipped golden fingers into his black hair, the glossy mane curling in luxuriant waves over his collar. The fringe of his golden epaulets dangled like gilt in the candlelight, emphasizing the incredible width of his shoulders. White braid marched down the front of his short coat, the blue wool hugging the planes of his wide chest. A gold dress sword brushed the side of his thigh, buff colored breeches molded the muscular curves of his long legs before plunging into shiny black Hessians. One look and Emily forgot to breathe.

“Emily, there is something I have been meaning to ask you ever since you returned from London last week,” Anna said.

“What?” Emily stared, her gaze never wavering from the tall, dark haired man who was making his way across the room. He moved with the easy elegance that came when strength blended with agility. Power rippled with his every stride. This was a man men would follow into hell. And women would wait breathlessly for his return.

“I have been worried.”

“Worried?” Emily noticed heads turn as the officer made his way through the crowd. Women cast admiring glances his way. Men gazed with a touch of envy at this tall, powerful figure. Who was he? She was quite certain she had never met him. Oh no, she would never have forgotten this man. Even if she had merely glimpsed him before.

“I have been wondering about something.”

Anna kept her voice so low Emily had to incline her head to hear her sister. Anna was several inches shorter than she was, small and delicate, a perfect flower of the ton. “What is it?”

“About your marriage.”

Emily’s muscles tensed. No one knew her better than Anna. She couldn’t possibly suspect anything. Could she? “What about my marriage?”

“Emily, you didn’t abandon your dream did you?”

“Dream? What do you mean?”

“You didn’t marry simply to allow me to have my first Season, did you?” Anna twisted her fan, crinkling the ivory lace trim. “Oh Emily, I do hope you married only because you found a gentleman you truly loved. I know how much you wanted me to go this year. I know you would put my situation above your own. I do hope you didn’t marry out of a sense of duty.”

The concern in her sister’s huge blue eyes tugged on Emily’s heart. Even though she was four years Anna’s senior, they had always been close, sharing their hopes and dreams. In fact, this was the first time she had ever kept a secret this important from her sister. Still, Emily knew she could not lay this burden on anyone, not her sister, not her closest friends.

“You must not fret about me.”

“But Emily, it all happened so quickly. An elopement! Emily, you do love your Major Blake, do you not?”

Emily glanced down to the embroidered ivory lace edging one short sleeve of her sister’s pale pink silk gown. “You and I made a pact. Remember? Neither of us would ever marry unless we were as deeply in love as Mama and Papa are.”

“I know. But, I also know how hard you fought to have Mama and Papa send me to London this Season, even though I wanted you to go. I could not live with myself if I thought you had married someone simply because of me.”

“Then it’s time you stopped torturing yourself. I certainly didn’t marry a man I did not love.”

“Then it’s true?” Anna’s eyes pleaded for the confirmation of her hopes. “He swept you off your feet?”

Emily took Anna’s hand in hers. All the lies made sense when she looked into her sister’s sweet face. The chance to see Anna happy was worth the price of her own integrity, she assured herself. “I knew Major Sheridan Blake was the answer to my prayer.”

Anna sighed, the strain leaving her beautiful face. “And do you tremble when he touches you?”

“It’s difficult to say how he makes me feel.” Emily glanced past Anna’s shoulder to where the officer was greeting her parents near one of the two refreshment tables in the room. In some strange way this man had stepped straight out of her fantasy. This is how she imagined Major Sheridan Blake would look, if he truly existed. He didn’t of course, that was the problem. Emily had invented him.

“You always said that for each of us there is one person destiny has meant us to meet,” Anna said.

“Only one.” Emily drew in a breath that trembled in her lungs as she stared at the officer. There was something about him, an aura of command, a strength she could sense all the way across the room.

“And now I know it’s possible. I can find that one special man destiny has meant for me.”

“Of course you can. We must never settle for anything less than to marry for affection, Anna. And we must be very careful not to be tricked by clever frauds.”

Anna touched her arm. When Emily glanced down at her sister she saw admiration shimmering in her eyes. “I only hope I can be as strong as you are, Emmie. I know how much Mama and Papa want to see each of us settled. But what happened to you that first Season frightens me.”

“When you think of the lifetime you will spend with your husband you will know you cannot live with an imitation of love. You must trust yourself. If something feels wrong, it is. When you meet the right gentleman, you will know.” Emily would never settle for anything less than true affection. And that is where she had run into a difficult dilemma.

Hugh and Audrey Maitland had insisted Emily have the opportunity to marry before any of her four younger sisters would be allowed to have a Season. In this her parents were every bit as stubborn as she was. They could not accept the fact she should have the right to make her own decisions. The fate of her poor sisters had depended upon Emily choosing a husband.

Emily really didn’t understand why her parents could not see she knew what was best for everyone in this situation. She had a right to determine her own path in life. If it took years to find the right man, then her parents should allow her the time. If she never found him, they should allow her to don a cap and live the life of a spinster. She should not be punished for wanting to live life on her own terms. Her sisters should be allowed to enter Society, even though their older sister was still unmarried. Yet her parents simply could not be made to see reason. And Emily certainly could not allow her parents to punish her sisters for her choices. This year the guilt had nearly broken her; she had very nearly accepted a man she didn’t love to ease the guilt and free her sisters. Still, desperation had found a path.

Instead of accepting a man she didn’t love, Emily had devised what seemed a perfect plan—she had married a fantasy. Three weeks ago, she had given this fantasy a name she had borrowed from a popular playwright and one of her favorite poets. Sheridan Blake became an army officer who had been in London for a few days before heading back to the Peninsula, just long enough to elope with Emily. At least that was the fairy tale she and her grandmother had concocted. It seemed a perfect solution to her dilemma.

Of course, Emily didn’t plan to stay married to her fictitious husband forever. She fully intended to become a widow after a few weeks. Sheridan Blake would die in battle, a casualty of war, his body lost on a distant battlefield. As a widow she would be free to make her own choices. Perhaps one day she might even meet the one man she was meant to marry. She could attend the Season as a widow. Her sisters could find their destiny without her blocking their path. It had been a difficult choice, born of desperation, but this deception had been her salvation.

Emily stared across the room to where the army officer was talking with her parents. She could tell even from a distance this was the type of man she had always dreamed of meeting. Honest. Brave. Loyal. The type of man a woman could trust with her dreams. Who was he?

“You always were the impetuous one, Emmie.”

Impetuous. Desperate really. Determined to live life on her own terms without hurting anyone. Who was that officer? She watched the officer press his lips to her mother’s hand. Why had she never met him before?

“An elopement, imagine. How utterly romantic.”

“Yes. Very romantic.”

Odd, her mother and father were greeting this man as though he were a long lost son. Father couldn’t seem to stop shaking his hand. Mother was staring up at this dark haired officer with something close to awe. If her parents knew him so well, why hadn’t they ever introduced her to this intriguing man? Was he married? Oh please, don’t let him be married. Dear heaven, she was married! She supposed her poor husband might meet his fate earlier than she had anticipated.

They were coming this way. Mother was leading the officer her way, while Father was headed for the spiral staircase leading to the minstrels’ gallery at the back of the room. Emily’s heart crept upward in her chest until each beat throbbed at the base of her throat. Oh my goodness, she couldn’t breathe.

“Emily, my goodness.” Anna touched Emily’s arm. “Look at the officer walking this direction with Mama.”

Emily wasn’t merely looking at the man, she was staring. She couldn’t help herself.

“He is really quite dashing.” Anna whispered. “In a dark, formidable way. I suppose he wouldn’t be the fashion in London. Still, I think him handsome. Remarkably so.”

If society measured male perfection by the soft, petulant, pretty looks of Lord Byron, this man was far from ideal. There was nothing soft in the finely sculpted lines and curves of this man’s face. Nothing petulant in the sensual curve of his finely molded mouth. Nothing pretty in the overall effect of towering strength and bold masculinity.

He was compelling. Mesmerizing. Overwhelming. Handsome was such a mild word to employ for this man. Emily had never seen a more blatantly attractive man in her life. Here was a warrior who could easily have stood before her in polished armor awaiting a token from his lady to take with him into battle.

“Emily, look who is here!” Audrey rushed toward her daughter, clutching the army officer’s arm as though she were afraid he might get away from her. “It’s such a marvelous surprise.”

Emily glanced at her mother, dazed by the presence of this bold warrior. Why was her mother so surprised to see this man?

“Emily, darling.” Audrey hugged Emily, then stepped back, pressing her hand to the base of her neck. “I can see you are overwhelmed.”

The tears welling in her mother’s eyes startled Emily’s already confused senses. “Mother, I don’t understand what…”

Emily’s words dissolved in a gasp as the officer gripped her shoulders in his big hands and drew her near. She caught a glimpse of his smile, a glimmer of the amusement in his eyes as he lowered his head and kissed her.

Emily had been kissed before. The mistake she had made years before had allowed one gentleman the presumption to kiss her. It had happened once. Broxburn had held her hands and touched his lips to hers. It had all been over in a heartbeat. As she recalled it was cool and dry and had left her wondering why kissing was considered scandalous. Now she understood.

He slid his firm lips across hers, slow, deliberate, as though he had every right to kiss her, as though he had every right to do more. Shock and confusion solidified into a shimmering excitement within her. This was a kiss straight from her wildest fantasy. This was a bold knight claiming his lady. Not with cold steel and brute strength. But, with the intoxicating elixir of a single kiss.

He wore no cologne. Yet a beguiling aroma of leather and wool mingled with a clean fragrance of bayberry, blending into a scent that was entirely masculine. A scent that teased her. A scent that made her want to press her face against his neck and fill her senses with his essence.

The music and voices in the room dissolved into the distant roar of her own pulse pounding in her ears. Although he didn’t hold her pressed against his chest, she could feel the heat of him, the strong radiant warmth of his body stroking hers through the emerald silk of her gown. And for some inconceivable reason, she sought that warmth, her body instinctively leaning toward him.

She felt a shifting within her, a yielding of muscles that made her sway until she could feel the press of his chest against her breasts. Sensation shimmered with the contact, a delicious ripple of excitement spiraling through her in all directions, like sparks escaping a flaming pinwheel. He tightened his grip on her arms holding her close for an instant. Only an instant. And then he was pulling away, leaving her breathless and hungry for more.

She stared up at him, stunned by her virulent reaction to him. In that instant she saw a flicker of what could have been confusion in his eyes, melding with the heat of a desire she could recognize even in her innocence. Who was this man?

“I have missed you, Em.” He smiled, his lips curving upward, a single dimple slicing into his tanned right cheek.

The sounds in the room faded into a distant buzz in her ears. Her entire world seemed nothing more than this man. She stared at him, stunned by her overwhelming response to this man. For one extraordinary moment she wondered if he had indeed stepped straight from her fantasy. “Missed me?”

His eyes sparkled with a bedeviling light, an intriguing sense of mischief and a promise of more. “I have missed you more than words can say.”

The bright notes of the orchestra faded only to erupt in a stunning crescendo. A moment later her father’s voice cracked like a whip in the room. Emily flinched, as though she were coming awake with a sharp slap across her face.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please give me your attention for a moment.”

Her father’s voice sliced through the fog clouding Emily’s mind. Reality swept through her with a vengeance. Dear heaven! The stranger had kissed her. What was worse, she had kissed him back, as though she had known him a thousand years. What would people think of her kissing a stranger in this manner? Especially now, when she was a married woman?

She glared at the man. “What the devil do you mean by…” her words dissolved in a startled exhale of breath as this tall stranger pressed his fingertip to her lips.

“Hush sweetheart, your father has an announcement to make.”

Emily frowned as she glanced to her mother, looking for support in her indignation, finding none. The world suddenly seemed to be spinning in the wrong direction. A man had kissed her. Here in her own home, in the middle of the ballroom. Why was her mother smiling? She glanced around her. Four hundred people stood in the huge room, staring up at the minstrels’ gallery, where her father stood at the black wrought iron balustrade, commanding the attention of everyone present. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“Mother, I…”

Audrey raised her hand, cutting off any words Emily might say. “Emily, your father is speaking.”

Emily stared up at her father, feeling as though she were trapped in some odd dream. Only she knew all too well she was wide awake. What the devil was happening?

“As you all know we are here tonight to celebrate the marriage of my daughter Emily to Major Sheridan Blake, who is in service to His Majesty, King George the Third.” Hugh paused a moment, staring down at his guests, his lips curved into a smile. “It seems we thought the major was unable to attend tonight, due to a prior engagement in the Peninsula.”

Thought the major was unable to attend. Emily stared up at her father, an uneasy shiver skittering up her spine, a sense of impending disaster settling over her, like a heavy cloak.

“Through a twist of good fortune.” Hugh’s smile grew as he looked to where Emily stood near the back of the room and raised his arm in her direction. “He was able to join us tonight. It’s my great pleasure to introduce all of you to my new son, Major Sheridan Blake.”