Katherine Langford is in London ready to make her debut to society when she discovers that the home next door is being rented by the "Murderous Marquess" Hayden Rowling. Always impulsive, Katy decides to sneak over and take a peek at the notorious M...
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I fear my innocence was exceeded only by my impetuosity...
"The girl is ruined. Utterly ruined." Agatha Terwilliger lifted her quizzing glass and surveyed the occupants of the elegant drawing room of Deansbrook House with a jaundiced eye. "It's just as I feared. I always knew she'd come to a bad end."
At that dour pronouncement, Karina's sniffling spilled over into a sob.
She was stretched out on a divan upholstered in green-and-gold striped damask, her face blotchy from weeping, her ankle propped on a bolster and swollen to twice its normal size. "You mustn't blame Katy. It's all my fault! I'm the one who ruined everything! If I hadn't got scared and gone after her, then stepped in that hole in the side yard and made such a muddle of things, no one would have ever known she was missing."
"And if I and my companions hadn't heard you whimpering and moaning, you might still be lying in the grass like a beached cod," Miss Terwilliger snapped.
Duly chastened, Karina subsided into hiccups.
Katy's brother, Anthony, fished a monogrammed handkerchief out of his waistcoat and handed it to Karina. Having been named after St. George, as Anthony George Langford. He never could resist coming to the rescue of any damsel at the mercy of a dragon. "You mustn't blame yourself, Miss Dimwinkle," he said. "Miss Terwilliger was the one who raised the alarm when she failed to find Katy in her room. If she hadn't been so persistent, none of Aunt Mercy's guests would have even known my sister was missing." He leaned against the mantel with the world-weary grace he had affected in Europe, raking a lock of sandy hair out of his eyes. "Perhaps the situation isn't as grave as we fear. This is hardly the first scrape Katy has gotten herself into."
"But it may very well best be the last." Miss Terwilliger folded her tiny, birdlike hands over the top of her cane and fixed him with a withering glare. "Tell me, son, does impudence run in your family?"
Anthony's jaw tightened, his sullen expression making him look more twelve than two-and-twenty. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, plainly aware that any reply he could make would only prove her point.
From an overstuffed wing chair in the corner, Katy watched the drama unfold. She sat with her bare feet tucked beneath the hem of her nightdress, a cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders, and a fluffy gray kitten curled up in her lap. Maggie, the beloved old maidservant who had practically raised her from a babe, had shuffled in only minutes ago and pressed a mug of warm chocolate into her hands. So far, being nearly ravished by a nefarious murderer wasn't much different from having a nasty head cold.
But that was only because her guardian had yet to make an appearance since bundling her into a carriage and having her whisked away from her aunt's house. The last she'd seen of Hero, he had been striding back up the walk toward St. Clair's house, her babbled explanations still ringing in his ears. She took a nervous sip of the chocolate, trying not to imagine what might be transpiring between the two men.
