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Prologue

ONE MONTH AGO …

"You have always been a disappointment," the duke muttered.

Rain had been falling over Glenmore House since dawn, turning the windows of the duke's bedchamber into sheets of silver and making the ancient stone walls seem colder than usual.

James Delves sat beside his father's bed, his broad shoulders held unnaturally still, his long dark-brown hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck. He had been there for hours, listening to the relentless tapping of rain against the glass and the faint, uneven breathing of the Duke of Glenmore.

The room smelled of medicine, damp ashes and dying flowers, and James found himself thinking that there was something cruel about flowers being left in a sickroom when they could not possibly survive it.

His father had not looked at him once. The old duke lay beneath a heavy coverlet, his face pale and hollow, his once-commanding features sharpened by illness. Every breath seemed to cost him something, yet somehow, he still possessed enough strength to make James feel like an unwanted boy standing before his schoolmaster.

James kept his hands clasped between his knees and stared at the carpet, telling himself that none of it mattered. His father was dying. Whatever bitterness existed between them ought to be forgotten now.

"You have no intention of marrying. No intention of producing a son. What sort of heir are you?"

James looked toward the rain-streaked window. Beyond it, the lawns had disappeared beneath a grey veil, and the bare branches of the trees bent beneath the wind. He had never imagined himself caring for the title in the manner his father expected. The dukedom had always felt less like an inheritance and more like a chain. He had watched his father devote his life to land, money and appearances, and James had quietly promised himself that he would never become that man.

"I have no wish to argue with you," James said, turning back toward the bed. "You are ill."

"Ill, yes," his father answered, his voice suddenly sharper. "But not yet foolish."

James's jaw tightened. He could endure the insults. He could endure being called selfish, reckless or unworthy. What he could not bear was the thought of his father spending his final hours consumed by anger.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms upon his knees. "Please, Father. Whatever you believe I have done wrong, let it end here."

The duke finally looked at him.

There was something in that gaze that made James's stomach tighten. It was not the exhausted stare of a dying man. It was calculating, almost malicious, and James suddenly felt as though he had walked into a trap without knowing there had been one waiting. His father watched him for several long moments before the corner of his mouth lifted.

"I have already found a way to fix the problem."

James frowned. "What problem?"

"You."

The word seemed to hang between them. James stared at his father, scarcely believing what he had heard. "I do not understand."

"Of course you do." The duke shifted beneath the blankets, wincing as he moved. "Once I die, the estate will not simply pass into your hands as you imagine."

James felt the first stirrings of unease. "What have you done?"

"The trustees will take control."

For a moment, James heard nothing but the rain. He looked at his father as though the old man had begun speaking a foreign language. The Glenmore estate had belonged to their family for generations. Its lands, tenants, houses and forests had always been spoken of as though they were permanent, as though the name Delves itself had been carved into the foundations of the estate.

"You cannot mean that," James said slowly.

"I can, and I do." His father's eyes hardened. "I made certain arrangements."

James rose from his chair, then forced himself to sit again when he saw the strain crossing his father's face. He did not want to agitate him, even now. "Why?"

"Because I knew you would squander everything by refusing to continue the family line."

James stared down at his hands. His fingers had curled into fists without him noticing. He had never wanted to marry merely because his father demanded it. He had never wanted to bring a woman into his life simply to produce a child who would inherit a title. Yet hearing that the estate could be torn apart after his father's death filled him with a strange grief he could not explain.

His father watched him carefully. "There is only one way for you to regain control."