Prologue

April 1820

Montrose, England

The skies were grey and so was Leo's mood.

Leonard Fox, the Duke of Montrose was sitting in his study with a paper tightly clutched in his hands. He'd read it's contents thrice but still, it wasn't sinking in.

The Earl of Ferrers, more commonly known as Lord Crane had fallen off his horse and died. He had been Leo's best friend. Well, his only friend but that hardly mattered. The paper in Leonard's hand was Crane's will.

It said,

I, Antony Joseph Crane wish that in event of my untimely death, the permanent guardianship of my daughter, Isabelle Anne Crane be given to Leonard Fox, the Duke of Montrose.

What had Crane been thinking? Leo could barely even take care of himself, a ward was out of the question. How was he to raise a four year old? Damn him for dying so young.

He was a good chap who had turned to drinking ever since his wife had died in childbirth. Leo didn't think Isabelle had ever seen her father sober. But in his own way, he'd loved his daughter. He was just too overcome by grief to express it.

He ran his hands over his face, something he did when he was stressed.

Dukes were generally supposed to produce a heir and a spare promptly. Well, Leo wasn't a conventional Duke. He was a part-time Duke and a full time physician. Dukes who were also physicians were unheard of. But Leo loved every minute of being a physician. In fact, Crane was the one who'd encouraged him in the beginning.

He'd never even thought about getting married.

He loved Isabelle and finding her a good mother was the least he could do because he sure as hell would be a terrible father. He sighed as he resigned himself to the thought of getting married. How bad could it be? He knew his looks made the opposite sex swoon. He despised the thought of attending balls and dancing attendance on silly young girls, but he'd have to do it for Isabelle.

He rang for Thomas, his expressionless butler and asked him to make the necessary preparations for his departure to London the following day. Thomas was shocked to hear that his master was travelling to London when the season was in full swing, but just murmured a "right away, your grace" because that's what all good butlers did.

The Duke of Montrose was known to be an unemotional and practical man but the lone tear that slid down his cheek as he reread his late friend's will said otherwise.

May 1820

London, England

Lady Clara Fethuerington, the only daughter of the Earl of Kenwood was being announced at Lady Brentworth's ball, the most coveted event of the season. As usual she waited for the crowd to part and make way for her and as usual, nobody even spared her a glance. After all she was no great beauty and she was all of two and twenty, practically a spinster.

Clara sighed. She should've been used to this by now, but some romantic part in her still wished for the impossible. Her mother was dragging her into the throng of grandly dressed lords and ladies, the cream of the ton. Most of them looked down at her or worse, weren't even aware of her existence as if she were beneath them in some way- either in beauty, wealth or intellect. They were probably right about the beauty part, but unbeknownst to anyone from the ton, Clara was a very successful novelist. She was probably the richest Lady in London and far more intelligent than most of the fickle minds of the ton. She had been writing from the time she was eighteen and the only person who knew about her writing was her best friend, Lady Amelia Wright.

Clara desperately wanted to escape from her mother's clutches. Luckily, they bumped into Lady Hudson, the biggest gossip of the ton and one of her mother's closest friend. Clara wasn't fond of her, but at least her mother forgot to pester her when she was with Lady Hudson.

As Clara greeted her, the first thing she said to her was, "Oh dear! This colour makes you look terribly sallow, my love. You should take Rebecca's help if you want to attract a husband. My dear Becca is such a darling, I'm sure she'd love to assist you."

'Becca' was Lady Hudson's daughter and a vulture who preyed on those she considered beneath her. There was no way Clara was taking her help.

"I'm sure, Lady Hudson. I think I shall go seek her out," Clara said and escaped from there. As she was leaving, she heard her say, "you must do something about her eating habits, Eli! That girl needs to lose at least two stones. She'll never find a husband like this."

Clara didn't wait to listen to what her mother said to that. Her vision was blurry because of her unshed tears as she blindly made her way away from her mother and Lady Hudson. She was not fat, damn it.

She looked for Amelia, but she was no where to be found. So she made her way to the corner of the ball room where all the aged spinsters sat. She felt comfortable with them. Lady Tabitha Jones was talking about how having cats helped her overcome her loneliness.

Living with cats to battle loneliness sounded kind of sad to Clara. So she started thinking about the plot of her new book.

That's when she saw him.

The most gorgeous man she'd ever seen. He was impossibly tall. His hair was black and messy. His jaw was strong and his chin had a little cleft. She couldn't discern the colour of his eyes, he was too far for that. And then he was walking towards her with her father.

What?

Clara could feel her heartbeat quicken.

His gait was very different from her father's. Clara loved her Papa, but he reminded her of one those penguins she'd seen in the zoo as a little girl.

But nothing about this man reminded her of flightless, rotund birds. He was more like a hawk, dangerous and focused in its purpose. And the attention of this hawk was on her.

Clara forgot how to breathe.