Copyright © 2014 KRISTIN VAYDEN
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
Chapter One
Charles Evermore, Duke of Clairmont, glared at his solicitor, narrowing his eyes until he could no longer see the small framed man before him. There had to be a mistake. There was no other explanation for the words coming from the man’s mouth.
“Your grace, if you’ll simply read the documentation for yourself…” Mr. Burrows spoke with practiced patience.
Charles stood and stalked around the desk, ripping the papers from his grasp. Mr. Burrows leaned back, folding his hands and watching Charles with unaffected impassivity. Not for the first time, Charles thought the man looked like a praying mantis, all long and lean with exceedingly large eyes and a patient demeanor that was all to deceptive.
But he was the best solicitor available.
He had better be for what Charles paid for his services.
“If you’ll start on the second page…” Mr. Burrows suggested.
Charles read the endless prattle of legal terms until his eyes focused on the chilling phrase.
Wards.
Three girls, to be exact. Ranging from ages seven to sixteen.
And, as heaven stood by laughing, he was to be their guardian.
Charles stared at the words, willing them to disappear. He hadn’t the time, the energy, or the inclination to take over the raising of three insufferable miniature females! He could hardly tolerate his mistresses, and they were full grown and low maintenance! He studied the rest of the document, searching for any other names that might take this plight away from him.
“You’re likely curious as to why you were chosen,” Mr. Burrows suggested.
“The question had crossed my mind.” Charles remarked sarcastically.
Mr. Burrows wisely ignored the duke’s surly attitude. “It was a tragedy, to be sure. The poor girls lost both parents in a carriage accident—”
“And there were no aunts or uncle to take them in?” Charles interrupted.
Mr. Burrows simply blinked, raising his eyebrows slightly and waiting.
“Carry on.” Charles waved his hand, somewhat chagrined at his idiotic question. After all, if there were a spinster aunt or bachelor uncle, hell, any relative at all, they wouldn’t be given to him as wards.
“As I was saying…” Mr. Burrows shot Charles a pointed gaze. “The girls were left quite without any family. Only providence connected them with you, your grace. You see, they are actually your mother’s second cousins, God rest her soul.”
“So I’m the urchins’ cousin? Bloody perfect.” Charles mumbled under his breath.
“So it would seem.” Mr. Burrows stood, collecting the papers from Charles’s outstretched hand. “You’ll not need to worry about a dowry or any such things for the young ladies. Their parents left them quite a bit of wealth. However, I would suggest you begin a search for a proper governess.”
