Chapter One
Hertfordshire, May 1814

The carriage crested a hill and Lady Regina Tremaine gasped at her first glimpse of Castlemaine, nestled in one of the Chiltern hills' verdant valleys. The place lived up to its name gloriously. Despite its lack of a moat, it was the very picture of a Tudor castle with its battlements, parapets, and pointed gothic windows. How odd to find it plunked down here in Hertfordshire among the oxen and the barley, only twenty miles from London. It was like stumbling upon Camelot in the midst of Whitechapel.

"Interesting, isn't it?" said Cicely Tremaine, her spinster older cousin and chaperone.

"Fascinating." Though she'd expected something of the sort, after hearing Louisa wax rhapsodic over her home. "If it's not too gloomy on the inside. You know how dank and dark these old piles can be."

Shortly after, as a footman ushered them inside, she discovered that the place wasn't gloomy in the least. Yes, someone had gone a bit wild with the theme. Rumor had it that the previous viscount had spent a fortune overhauling the castle some twenty-five years ago; inspired by Walpole's Strawberry Hill, he'd turned the crumbling old building into a gothic masterpiece.

It had been finely done, however. The burnished dark woods and the ironwork gave an impression of strength. Despite the faded hues of the ancient tapestry hanging on one wall, the overall impression was of lush colors—the rich gold-shot silk of the drapes and the vibrant reds and blues of the stained-glass window at the top of the magnificent mahogany staircase.

Cicely edged closer to her. "On the inside it's not quite what one expects."

"No." Regina knew Lord Draker was rich, but given his notorious reclusiveness, she'd expected sooty ceilings and cobwebs lurking beneath every chair—not this immaculately clean foyer with its sparkling crystal chandelier and a Tintoretto painting that proclaimed the owner's wealth and taste.

But only to those who knew art. Either Lord Draker was more sophisticated than she'd realized, or he merely liked interesting pictures.

She hoped it was the latter. She had her best successes with shallow or simpleminded men; clever ones were a bother, although even they could be gotten round easily enough if she put her mind to it.

The butler approached, looking flustered. "Good morning, ladies. There must have been some mistake. Miss North is in London at present and—"

"I'm not here to see Louisa," Regina said with a smile. "Would you kindly tell his lordship that Lady Regina Tremaine would like a word with him?"

The butler's face turned an interesting shade of purple. "H-His lordship?"

She raised one eyebrow. "This is Castlemaine, isn't it?"

"Certainly, my lady, but… well… you do mean that you wish to see the viscount, don't you? Lord Draker?"

"Of course."

"Marcus North, the sixth Viscount Draker."

"Yes, yes, that is the one," she said impatiently. "Have we come to the wrong house?"

"Perhaps this is a bad time," Cicely whispered, her pallor deepening.

"Nonsense." Regina offered the butler a cool smile. "Would you inform his lordship that I am here to see him?" She added archly, "If it's no trouble."

The butler colored again. "Of course not, my lady. Forgive me, but ladies rarely… that is, his lordship does not…" He trailed off weakly. "I will inform him of your arrival at once."

Copyright © 2005 by Deborah Gonzales