Chapter 1
Wolfstan Robert Ward, Earl of Wicke and Selborne, flipped the invitation to Willoughby Castle, a summons, really, back to front between his fingers in absent thought.
Langley was in the market for a wife.
The news did not surprise him, as Mason Flowerdy, the Honorable Viscount Lonsdale and his childhood friend, had informed him two minutes prior. Wolfstan understood his cousin’s sudden interest in marriage. Langley adored children. Had never made a secret of his adoration. Even at eight-and-twenty, Langley could not stroll past a baby without stopping and cooing over the infant for a quarter of an hour. By no means did Wolfstan hate babies, but what the devil did his cousin find so alluring? They smelled like vomit and piddle. They slobbered. They cried. A lot.
Wolfstan shuddered.
But that was beside the point.
Women would be lining up for Langley, Wolfstan was sure. Two years his junior, Langley had always been a favorite amongst the ladies, unlike Wolfstan, who kept mostly to himself. His interest lay with one woman only. Which was why the news of Langley’s interest in procuring a wife did not spark a flicker of joy within Wolfstan. In fact, the news brought with it only a string of curses and a distressingly wretched mood.
All because of Rebecca Flowerdy.
Ah, Rebecca Flowerdy.
The woman he loved.
To the point of bloody distraction.
Damn that fateful summer day at Westbridge Park fifteen years ago, the day Wolfstan’s life had unwittingly changed forever. The day he and Langley had visited Mason and happened upon Rebecca, nine-years-old at the time, in a field of flowers and tall grass, being bullied by Jim Parsons, the son of a resident farmer.
Wolfstan rubbed his temples.
He would never forget her eyes, tears brimming in their innocent depth as she stared up at him. A feeling of warmth had spread across his chest, and Wolfstan had vowed, from that day forward, he would always protect Rebecca Flowerdy. He had felt like a bloody hero in her eyes.
That feeling of warmth never left. With each passing year, the meaning of that affection grew and spread through his system like the roots of an ancient oak tree. So rooted was he at the heart, he could not possibly hope to move from the ground on which Rebecca Flowerdy walked.
Each time she cast a smile his way, laughed at something ridiculously mundane, shot him a look of pure humor, she took a piece of his soul. Every single time. He felt bloody bare. Naked. Picked dry. Beyond a doubt, Rebecca’s smile rattled the ground beneath his well-polished boots.
There was only one problem.
Rebecca Flowerdy was smitten with another man.
Langley.
His cousin.
A bloody mess.
“Wicke? Have you lost your hearing?”
Wolfstan looked up at Lonsdale, bearer of wretched news and brother to the woman he loved. No, he had not lost his hearing. He had lost something much more valuable. His moment.
“Does Rebecca know?” Wolfstan asked, redirecting whatever topic Lonsdale had brought up.
“About Langley? I’m not sure. Caro informed me. She might have passed on the news to Rebecca. They left for Westbridge Park three days ago.”
That was news to Wolfstan. Normally, the family traveled together. “Your wife left without you?”
“I escorted them and returned. The doctor ordered Caro to rest for the duration of her pregnancy. I still have matters to finalize in London before I retire.”
Wolfstan nodded. “You must be anxious to join them, then.”
“I am,” Lonsdale answered. “Which brings me to my visit. When are you joining the festivities at Willoughby Castle?”
“I’m not.”
