Sneak Peek Inside Duke of Secrets!

On Sale VERY Soon!

Dear Reader, I am thrilled to unveil Chapter 1 of DUKE OF SECRETS for your entertainment! The release is right around the corner, so I thought I'd take a moment to tell you a bit about the story.

This is a juicy winter's tale with gothic overtones, a dark and mysterious hero, and a sharp, determined heroine. Fans of my Inferno Club series will be happy to hear there are certain cameos in here that you may enjoy! More to come, but for now, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy this sneak peek into DUKE OF SECRETS...

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​Chapter 1
The Forbidden Man

A single moonbeam, ghostly and pale, slanted through her window, piercing the blue-black darkness of her chamber to illuminate the clock face. Quarter till midnight, it read.
 
Almost time to go.
 
Lady Serena Parker sat tensely on the edge of her bed, waiting. No sound but the mantel clock’s steady tick-tock filled the heavy stillness in her room. Her pulse, however, beat at a quicker pace, considering her illicit intentions.
 
Dry-mouthed, she took a sip of tangy white wine to settle her nerves, then rechecked the lacings of her half-boots.
 
All the while, the large, fluffy family cat perched on the windowsill, posted as her lookout. Wesley’s striped tail twitched as he peered out through the glass.
 
But even with the feline’s keen night vision, not even the tabby could see the duke’s corner mansion on the opposite side of Moonlight Square from the bedroom window.
 
The autumn leaves still clinging to the plane trees in the garden park blocked the view of Rivenwood House, as Serena herself had confirmed, many times.
 
Now and then, her family’s London townhouse creaked around her in the autumn wind gusts of this chill October eve.
 
But inside her room, it still smelled of summer, thanks to the flowers sent by suitors who had only grown more ardent now that she was no longer seen in the company of her unlikely former favorite, the bookish Lord Tobias Guilfoyle.
 
The thought of her quirky ex-beau gave her a pang; Serena took another shaky sip of wine.
 
Alas, Toby had proved a coward, caving in to his parents’ disapproval of their match after certain revelations had emerged.
 
As for the rest of her suitors, they were all the same. They bored her. Toby might’ve been quirky and rather hapless, the dear, rumpled thing, but at least he was an interesting person.
 
Anyway, larger matters than marriage obsessed her now. How could she take the slightest interest in love when her entire world had been turned upside down by the awful things Toby had uncovered about her family while researching information for his book?
 
She needed answers—by God, she deserved them—and that was why she was fully dressed and prepared to leave the house as midnight approached.
 
On the face of it, she knew her plan this night was rather mad, but she had suffered in darkness and ignorance long enough. Her mother’s cruel, heartless, stubborn refusal to divulge basic truths about Serena’s origins left her no choice but to seek the answers on her own.
 
The clock bonged once, nearly making her jump.
 
Quarter to twelve now. She got up restlessly and paced over to join Wesley by the window.
 
Glancing out, she watched the moon-silvered treetops half stripped of leaves sway and toss in the wind, but they still blocked her view of Rivenwood House on the opposite corner of the square.
 
Drumming her fingers silently on the white window sash, Serena supposed she was nervous but not afraid. On the contrary, she felt sharply focused, maybe even a little excited at the prospect of the night’s dubious adventure. Eager to go.
 
She just wanted to make sure she gave the revelers at the duke’s mansion enough time to throng into the party and have a few drinks.
 
Midnight should be late enough, she trusted, considering all London had been waiting for this night with bated breath.
 
It was the first time the intensely mysterious Azrael Chambers, Duke of Rivenwood, had ever opened up his house to Society.
 
Given the reclusive, pale-haired nobleman’s peculiar mystique and his family’s dark, almost spooky reputation, reportedly counting among their ancestors the infamous John Dee, occult master and court astrologer to Good Queen Bess, it was no surprise—to her, at least—that with Hallowe’en approaching, His Grace had chosen to summon the ton to a masquerade ball.
 
Serena, too, had received one of the coveted invitations.
 
No doubt the enigmatic loner had only sent it to mock her, however, considering the cat-and-mouse game they had played for the past few months, without even having a proper introduction.
 
They were neighbors in Moonlight Square, of course, but they’d never met properly, for he was a man who famously kept to himself, and—more importantly—her mother had always forbidden her to talk to him.
 
Until recently, Serena couldn’t fathom why. She knew her parents were acquainted with him somehow, for she had a faint childhood memory of the young duke visiting their country house in Buckinghamshire once, some thirteen years ago.
 
He could not have been any older than twenty-one, the same age she was now, having just attained his majority.
 
Why he’d come, she did not know, but he’d left again in less than half an hour and never returned.
 
She remembered the day well, not only because he’d made quite an impression on her eight-year-old imagination, but also because she’d found her mother crying after he was gone.
 
An affectionate child, she’d run over and hugged the countess, asking what was wrong, but Mama had said it was all right—she was crying because she was happy.
 
None of it made any sense.
 
Serena knew it was all tied together, though, and was determined to get to the bottom of it tonight.
 
Yet…what His Grace must think of her after all the times he had caught her staring at him over the past few months, she shuddered to wonder. He must find her very strange, indeed—though that was the pot calling the kettle black, eccentric as he was.
 
She couldn’t help it. She had become slightly obsessed with the man, now about thirty-four, and it wasn’t just because of his wary, elusive magnetism, or the beautiful bone structure of his sharp-angled, high-cheek-boned face. Or his ice-blue, almost silvery eyes. Or his sensitive, unsmiling mouth. Or his elegant, understated way of moving.
 
Though she had certainly noticed all these, watching him so closely.
 
Indeed, he had a fascinating, otherworldly appeal, but it was not romantic interest that drove her.
 
It was the knowledge, finally divulged by her old childhood nurse, that the current Duke of Rivenwood alone might possess the answers to all her burning questions.
 
And so, for months now, Serena had stood back in a state of uncertainty, continually weighing in her mind whether it was worth the risk to try to approach the intimidating stranger and ask him outright what he knew about these dark family secrets.
 
Secrets that her parents, the Earl and Countess of Dunhaven, had once shared, it seemed, with his father, the previous Duke of Rivenwood.
 
Ultimately, Serena had decided against trying to involve her intriguing neighbor for a variety of reasons. First, she was not supposed to talk to that man, ever.
 
Of course, after Mama had proved such a liar and a fraud, Serena no longer felt entirely bound to obey, but there were other reasons, too.
 
For example, secondly, in order simply to explain the context of her questions, she’d have to confide in His Grace about some very embarrassing truths, and there was no telling how he would react.
 
She did not want her secrets used against her or, worse, exposed to all the world.
 
But thirdly, and most worrisome of all, the dreadful rumors that Toby had accidently uncovered in his research concerned not just Serena’s parents, but Azrael’s, too.
 
And therein lay the rub.
 
Everybody knew that Azrael had witnessed his father’s murder as a boy.
 
The previous Duke of Rivenwood had been stabbed to death by a homeless vagrant whom father and son had caught poaching in the woods at one of their estates when they had gone out walking together.
 
Indeed, it was widely thought this tragic incident explained why the son had grown up so strange and withdrawn, preferring the company of animals to people.
 
The whole ton knew, moreover, that the topic of his father’s death was taboo with the present duke; one mentioned it in front of him at one’s own peril.
 
And since this was precisely the subject Serena would need to broach with him to get the answers she craved, she had no idea how to surmount this obstacle.
 
It didn’t seem worth it to go opening up that particular Pandora’s box. God only knew what it might get her.
 
Her old childhood nurse had made it very clear, after all, that while the Rivenwood men might look like beautiful fallen angels, shining and pale, they could be extremely dangerous.
 
“Even your mother was afraid of his sire,” old Mrs. Hopkins had warned—and that was saying something, for the haughty Mariah, Lady Dunhaven, wasn’t afraid of much.
 
Her Ladyship knew well that her striking beauty gave her great power in the world—even more so when she had been Serena’s age.
 
Back then, she could have anyone or anything she wanted, and had apparently been wild enough to indulge in that privilege as she pleased.
 
Of course, now the reformed countess spent most days with her head buried in her Bible, but back then, well, Serena now knew, thanks to Toby, that Mama had been a hellion.
 
And whatever unpleasant pursuits she’d been involved in, the previous Duke of Rivenwood had been the ringleader.
 
Which was why Mrs. Hopkins’ ominous words still rang in Serena’s ears: “Stay away from that one, milady. He’s likely just as bad as his father, the wicked heir to an evil family.”
 
“Well, that makes two of us,” Serena had nearly replied.
 
But if the current Rivenwood was as evil as the last one was reputed to have been, then she was wise to hesitate about approaching him.
 
So for five months now, she’d hung back, growing more desperate by the day.
 
And then, suddenly, out of the blue, the invitation to his masquerade ball had arrived.
 
She’d been elated. Here was the perfect opportunity to get inside his house and have a discreet look around, maybe even find a few clues that might lead to the answers she craved without having to speak to him directly.
 
Instead of simply accepting the invitation, therefore, she had seized upon a more devious strategy and sent back her regrets. She had a simple ruse in mind that would allow her to move about in that enemy territory much more freely.
 
Oh, she’d be there, all right—she just didn’t want him to know that. Since everyone would be in costume, she figured she had an excellent chance of getting away with it, too. It was a risky plan, but perhaps she had a dash of her mother’s youthful wickedness in her…
 
Wesley, meanwhile, was watching her intently.
 
She bent down to whisper, “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”
 
The cat responded with a meow.
 
“Shh, you’ll wake Cousin Tamsin.” She petted the tabby’s head, and he purred before she prowled away again.
 
It was now five minutes to the hour. Serena glanced down at herself, considering any last-minute wardrobe changes, but no.
 
She had selected her clothing carefully for this mission, donning the plainest beige walking dress she could scrounge out of her wardrobe. She had purposely chosen something that would allow ease of movement, plus help her blend in.
 
The latter wasn’t easy, considering her taste for bold colors and jewel tones. Demure whites and pastels were deemed more suitable for unmarried young ladies, but with her wavy black hair, pale skin, and brownish, olive-green eyes, just like Mama’s, those sweet, limpid shades made her look like a sickly ghost.
 
Admittedly, she was vain enough to refuse to wear what did not look well on her. She was especially fond of red. But to Mama’s amusement, Serena merely snapped her fingers at those who disapproved—like Toby’s dam.
 
Ah well, her mother had always let her get away with everything.
 
Now at least Serena knew why.
 
At last, the mantel clock began to sigh out its soft chimes, though not loudly enough to wake her timid chaperone.
 
Mousy Cousin Tamsin was their spinster kinswoman on her mother’s side. She had remained in Town with Serena on Mama’s orders after Parliament’s closing and the end of the Season, when the rest of the family had migrated to the country, as usual, to spend the autumn and winter at Dunhaven Manor.
 
Presently, Cousin Tamsin was fast asleep in her chamber down the hallway.
 
Serena’s heart skipped a beat as she stalked over silently to her dressing table. Just for a moment, she stared at her reflection in the moonlit mirror.
 
Are you sure you want to do this?
 
It was brazen, reckless, sneaking into a ball hosted by a man of dubious reputation—a man she suspected was as keenly aware of her as she was of him.
 
But she had no choice. After all these months, the need to know the truth about her family and own origins was driving her quite mad.
 
And so with that, she lifted the waiting half-mask of beaded black satin and lace from her dressing table, fitted it over the upper half of her face, and, with trembling fingers, tied the ribbons behind her head.
 
Next, she swept the black velvet domino around her shoulders, fastening the large button loop between her collarbones. With the cloak secured, she lifted the hood and draped it over her head.
 
Hmm. She gazed at her reflection, transformed into some sort of mysterious lady of shadows.
 
Well, it would’ve been a dreadfully dull costume if she were attending this masked ball in earnest, she thought, but since her sole intention was to blend in and avoid being noticed, the disguise suited her task perfectly.
 
She paused to toss back the rest of the wine in her glass, needing its liquid courage for what she was attempting. She reminded herself that she did not intend to engage His Grace of Rivenwood tonight—or anyone else, for that matter.
 
No one would even know she was there. She just wanted to slip in, have a discreet look around inside the Rivenwoods’ secretive abode, and finally, perhaps, seize upon some clue that would lead her toward the truth, or at least point her in the right direction about what her parents had got up to in their youth in his father’s fast-living set.
 
Serena set the empty wineglass on her dressing table, noting the smudge on the rim from her rouged lips. She did not normally wear cosmetics, but tonight she had dusted her face with pearlescent powder and daubed her lips with scarlet stain, the better to disguise her identity.
 
Satisfied with her eerie transformation, she decided it was time to go.
 
“Goodbye, Wesley,” she whispered, bending to give the cat a scratch under the chin. “I won’t be long.”
 
She pivoted, her cloak swirling around her. Before leaving, she silently retrieved her invitation to the masked ball from the top drawer.
 
She slipped it into her pocket, just in case His Grace’s servants stopped her at the door.
 
Certainly they would be surprised to see her, considering her negative RSVP, but if it came to it, she would simply give them her blithest Society-belle smile, giggle, and say she’d changed her mind.
 
She wondered if the duke would gloat if that happened—but it wouldn’t, she vowed, marching over to the door of her chamber, her pulse racing, her step resolute.
 
She sidled out into the hallway, then glided down the staircase, meeting no one on the way.
 
The servants were all abed by now, and with her parents and two blockhead younger brothers gone to the country, the rest of the house was empty.
 
Stealing back toward the kitchens, it was an easy matter to slip out of the townhouse through the rear door. She pulled it closed with a soft click behind her, and finally exhaled.
 
At once, she pressed on. Striding swiftly through the garden, she exited through the gate without a sound, then hurried down the cobbled mews, smelled the stables as she passed.
 
She turned a corner at the edge of the stone wall, and the night pooled, dark as ink, as she traversed the narrow passage between the buildings.
 
Such darkness was a little unnerving—perhaps all the more so because of all Toby’s peasant legends about how “the Veil” thinned at this dead time of year, allowing spirits to roam the earth, culminating on All Hallows’ Eve. Ah, but he was the folklorist and she was the down-to-earth, sensible one, who’d always laughed at his fairy stories and superstitious tales, teasing him for his overactive imagination.
 
A pang of missing her longtime suitor made her wince, for they had been great friends before they courted, but she mentally shoved it off. At least now she wouldn’t have to listen to Toby’s fey nonsense for the rest of her life, she thought with a huff as she hurried along.
 
A few seconds later, she burst out onto Moonlight Square proper.
 
Lanterns burned outside the stately rows of large, elegant terrace houses, flickering over their tidy front doors and matching white pillared porticoes.
 
Likewise, quaint black streetlamps cast golden circles of illumination at regular intervals along the cobbled streets of their aristocratic neighborhood.
 
Still, she found the night eerie.
 
Dead leaves whisked down the street, whirling past her feet. Above, billowy, dark clouds played hide-and-seek with the moon, while just a few stars peeked out impishly. It was cold—nearly cold enough for a flurry, she thought, glancing at the sky through the eyeholes of her mask.
 
She shivered and hurried on, pulling her thin domino more tightly around her. Crossing the street, she headed for the tall wrought-iron gate surrounding the dark, quiet park in the center of the square.
 
The genteel garden park at the heart of Moonlight Square was generally kept open to the public during the day, but at night, only residents had access. Each family had been given a key.
 
Serena pulled hers out of her pocket and, ever so quietly, unlocked the cold metal gate, then stepped through it onto the graveled path. Cutting through the park reduced her chances of being seen on the way to the duke’s party.
 
Heart racing, the wind rippling through the folds of her long cloak, she pulled the gate shut behind her. The lock clicked back into place. She dropped the key into her pocket again and moved on.
 
With her black domino flowing out behind her, she strode down the shadowed path that wound through the park’s sculpted acres. The gravel and dead fallen leaves crunched softly beneath her anxious strides.
 
She tried not to think about the history of their pleasant garden park, how, a century ago, it had served as a public hanging ground. If any place in London were likely to be haunted on a night such as this…
 
She gulped, scowled at herself for letting Toby’s ghost tales unsettle her, and pressed on, more jittery with every step closer to her destination. But she knew she could easily pass through the party unnoticed.
 
The duke would be preoccupied with his two hundred guests, and even if he looked right at her, how could he guess who she was with her face masked?
 
This was no time to lose her nerve. She’d never get a chance like this again.
 
She focused on the more pleasant details of the night to calm her fears: the earthy smell of autumn from the leaves that piled here and there beneath the big trees, the homey scent of fireplaces burning to ward off the night’s encroaching frost.
 
Halfway through the park, Serena passed the gazebo where Toby had sat her down that dreadful day five months ago and explained, with tender difficulty, the painful things he’d learned about her family. Like a fool, she’d assumed that the reason he had asked her to meet him there was because he’d finally worked up his nerve to propose. And she’d been prepared to accept!
 
What a rude awakening, she thought.
 
Instead, he had shaken her world to its foundations with the news that: one, her parents had been involved in some very dark things when they were young; two, she’d once had a sister who had died before Serena was born; and three, the man she’d called Papa all her life wasn’t her real father.
 
She still felt dizzy from it all, just looking at the gazebo. The quaint structure gleamed an ethereal pearl white in the full moon’s glow.
 
Seeing it now only made her all the more determined to find the answers to the whirlwind of questions that had sent her till-then-orderly life spinning, for her mother refused to talk about it.
 
Well, too bad, Serena thought.
 
These mysteries and lies had already cost her not only the match she’d expected to make, but had also wrecked her once-close bond with her mother, upended her whole understanding of her place in the world, and robbed her of her peace of mind.
 
If Papa was not her real father, then who the devil was?
 
It seemed a simple question, and she had a right to know, but Mama would not give her an answer. She had shut down like Serena had never seen her do before.
 
No doubt she had her reasons, but her silence was cruel—and had left Serena no choice.
 
Tonight, she was determined to learn something, anything, that would help her start putting all the scattered puzzle pieces of her life back together—on her own, since nobody would tell her the truth.
 
Upon reaching the far side of the garden park, she let herself out through the opposite gate, then took a few wary steps across the pavement, staring up somberly at the five-story mansion across the street.
 
Unlike the joined terrace houses lining the streets of Moonlight Square, the giant houses on the corners stood alone, every one of them owned by a duke.
 
Rivenwood House loomed, a great square block with muffled music pouring out the open front door. Orange light gleamed in the windows, revealing the silhouettes of countless guests.
 
Seeing the place, Serena deigned not to try her luck at the front door, but padded down the alleyway nearby and sneaked onto the ground through the back gate. Heart thumping at her trespass, she kept her stare fixed on the back of the mansion as she walked down the grassy, silvered path through the duke’s gardens.
 
The closer she got to the house, the more people she encountered. Now she could hear the orchestra playing inside. She glimpsed masked couples whirling about through the large upper windows of what was obviously the ballroom.
 
It was brighter closer to the house, the night lit by burning torches and a smoky bonfire, where servants were roasting chestnuts for guests who wanted this old-fashioned autumnal treat. She moved at a casual stroll to avoid calling attention to herself, passing like a shadow among shadows in her black cloak.
 
Costumed guests mingled here and there, some gentlemen smoking near the fanciful stone fountain, a group of ladies laughing together beneath the barren trellis.
 
Then she came to an open section of the grass where an odd choice of garden features had been erected. Serena arched a brow at the makeshift ruins of a faux stone circle like a miniature Stonehenge, a few of the boulders picturesquely toppled.
 
The strange sight, so out of place in one of London’s most fashionable neighborhoods, reminded her afresh of Toby’s words about the Rivenwoods’ occult preoccupation.
 
She must always remember she was dealing with no ordinary man. Stay on your guard.
 
With this inner warning, she forced herself to slow her pace to an idle saunter, her pulse hammering away so loudly she thought it might rattle his windows in their casements as she approached his house.
 
Determined to brazen it out, she glided up the outdoor stairs to the flagstone terrace off the back of the house. Here more guests in various costumes clustered, leaning against the carved stone balustrade. The music grew louder, the laughter, the incessant chatter of voices.
 
She lifted a glass of wine smoothly off the tray of a liveried footman posted near the French doors leading into the house. She took a sip as she stepped over the threshold, strolling into his house as though she had every right to be there.
 
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light. As she blinked rapidly behind her mask, her immediate impression was surprise at the medieval-inspired, neo-gothic décor.
 
The effect was slightly disorienting, for the inside of the house did not match the outside at all.
 
The famous architect Beau Nash had designed Moonlight Square along neoclassical lines, with grand Greco-Roman symmetry, smooth and regal Palladian features.
 
Indeed, the exclusive neighborhood had rules on acceptable paint colors and such, but these only applied to the homes’ exteriors. Inside, residents could do as they liked with their homes, and Rivenwood certainly had, sparing no details in the rich, faux-medieval style.
 
From the fluted pillars and pointed arches to the plaster-beamed ceilings, ornate wood carvings, rich red and dark blue draperies, and the gargoyles peering down from the corners here and there, it was like walking into an old castle or a small medieval church.
 
The contrast was decidedly confusing, and yet, once she started getting used to it, she decided that she liked it.
 
He was certainly different.
 
The neo-gothic space had been decorated with simple charm well suited to the occasion of a Hallowe’en ball. Small flowers and garlands of mossy forest greenery were strung up and twined about everywhere.
 
On shelves and tables sat small flickering lanterns made from hollowed-out turnips, like the ones children carried from door to door on All Hallows’ Eve when they went begging for treats, warning of tricks if they were not rewarded.
 
The whole effect turned the Rivenwood mansion into a medieval fairyland, and Serena walked through the place with a fleeting sense of wonder. It made her feel as though magical things might happen here…
 
She fought to stay focused on her task, however. She had come not to fall under Azrael’s enchantment, but to seek information.
 
Clear, simple facts.
 
Proceeding forward through the house, she came to the lofty entrance hall. All the houses had them, but Azrael’s had been transmogrified into a long, narrow great hall that belonged in a castle, with a vaulted ceiling two stories high.
 
Ornately carved wooden galleries above overlooked the crowded space, and at the far end, opposite the front doors, an Ecclesiastical Gothic screen with double pillars and pointed arches framed a grand staircase softened by a red carpet runner.
 
Halfway up, a landing split the staircase, and it continued up in both directions. Serena gathered that the ballroom was up there somewhere.
 
But in the “great hall” where she stood, the dark oak-paneled walls were hung with knight helmets, a few antique shields arranged with crossed swords, and old, tattered banners and ancient battle pennants—though she doubted they were authentic.
 
Everything within these walls seemed fanciful, and that intrigued her all the more about the master of this place. She secretly adored people with imagination. Nonconformists. Those who didn’t play by the rules.
 
She spotted him just then standing by the wall: the enigma, tall and tense, looking uneasy at his own party, though his smile was polite.
 
Even surrounded by people, Azrael had a solitary air about him. What a strange being he was, she mused. In the world, but not of it.
 
Well, how could he be normal, when his sire named him after the blasted archangel of death? she mused. Terrible thing to do to a child.
 
Yet it seemed to suit him somehow.
 
His long, smooth, flax-blond hair was pulled back in a simple queue. He wore formal black-and-white evening attire. An antiqued gold half-mask in a vaguely Roman style obscured the upper half of his patrician face.
 
Pity, that. She loved his almost Nordic-looking cheekbones, high forehead, fine nose, and the crisp line of his jaw. But even these did not compare to his mesmerizing pale eyes.
 
She had so relished the disconcerted flicker she had often seen in their silver depths when, once again, the duke caught her watching him over these past months. She sensed that he did not know what to make of her, and that suited her very well indeed.
 
At least it made them equal, for she certainly didn’t know what to make of him.
 
Why she felt so drawn to this strange man, this mysterious presence who had first shown up when she was a child, she could not say.
 
Perhaps there was a droplet of pity amid her wariness of him. He always seemed so alone.
 
Even now, from the moment she saw him, she felt the pull of his familiar fascination. Goblet in hand, he was exchanging pleasantries with some of his guests when he happened to look over and see her—as though he’d felt her stare.
 
Serena froze. She almost relaxed when his gaze glided past her, but then it came rushing right back, landing on her with an owl’s swiftness.
 
Her pulse jolted. She gulped and, at once, turned away, ducking her head to let the loose draping hood of her cloak hide her face completely.
 
Wobbly-kneed, she moved on, resisting the urge to flee with undue haste, for that would only draw his further attention.
 
Instead, she wove on through the crowd with measured paces, telling herself he couldn’t have recognized her. She’d only imagined it, surely. She took one more glance over her shoulder at him before stepping into the next room.
 
He was gazing after her, unreadable behind his tarnished gold mask.
 
She stepped out of his line of view into what proved to be a dining room. The offerings of a feast were laid out on the vast oak table and massive sideboard.
 
The ham and puddings, tartlets and cakes, fruits and cheeses all looked and smelled delicious, but her stomach was in knots.
 
Worried their keen-eyed host might grow curious and come after her, she pressed on through the far doorway into the next crowded room to put more distance between them. She passed through a large sitting room, where people dressed as all manner of things were playing cards or engrossed in conversation.
 
Everyone seemed to be having a good time. At least his first social event looked like a success—even if he had waited until October, when much of Society had long since left Town for the countryside.
 
It was a start, anyway, she thought in amusement, calming down again. Holding an acceptable Society gathering probably wasn’t easy for bachelors, she supposed.
 
Local gossip had it that Azrael’s one known actual friend, the newlywed king of the rakehells, Jason, the Duke of Netherford, had suggested he hold the party. His fellow duke—also a resident of Moonlight Square—had reportedly helped him prepare for it, along with his bride, Felicity.
 
Serena was not an intimate acquaintance of the new Duchess of Netherford, but she and Felicity were friendly enough.
 
Personally, she had thought the girl was mad for marrying Netherford when she’d first heard about it. He was known to be a very bad boy. But in the end, Serena had to give Felicity credit. It hadn’t taken her very long to bring the rogue to heel.
 
In any case, Felicity was obviously here somewhere tonight, so Serena stayed on her guard, careful to avoid running into her friend, lest she recognize her.
 
Drifting on, observing everything around her, Serena peered into the next room and felt her pulse quicken with excitement as she arrived at the duke’s library. Surely this was the best place to start her search for answers in earnest.
 
Better still, the room was empty at the moment. She quickly shut the door and glanced around, eager to get to work.
 
Where to begin?
 
From the rich, dark rug to the painted coffered ceiling, the library was a beautiful room in the same fanciful neo-gothic style as the rest of the house. Oaken bookshelves with pointed arches. Heavy, medieval-inspired furniture. A dark wooden mantelpiece, ornately carved, and stained glass insets in the windows.
 
She strode toward the shelves, unsure what exactly she was looking for—hopefully, she’d know it when she saw it—when, suddenly, a full-length portrait on the wall caught her eye.
 
She stopped and turned to face the man in the portrait. My, my. Are you the reason no one’s in here? Have you chased everyone away, Your Grace?
 
To be sure, that haughty, gray-eyed stare could’ve turned the Thames to ice.
 
The grand personage in the portrait was Azrael’s murdered father.
 
“Even your mother was afraid of him.”
 
She took a step closer, gazing up boldly at the portrait. Well, you don’t scare me, she thought.
 
He’d been a handsome man. The late duke had the same pale silver-blue eyes, champagne-blond hair, and sharp, patrician features as his son. He was portrayed in court dress, a ceremonial cape of some sort flung over one shoulder.
 
An array of jeweled badges, brooches, and the insignias of various knightly orders were displayed across the duke’s chest. She studied them carefully. Some looked familiar, some didn’t. It was hard to say.
 
In the lower corner of the portrait she saw what she assumed was their family crest: a black leopard rampant on a red shield.
 
Then she noticed something in the peculiar background of the painting.
 
The late duke was shown standing in a Renaissance-looking setting, but through the velvet-curtained window behind him could be seen the pyramids of Egypt, of all things.
 
Furrowing her brow, Serena assumed the duke must’ve visited it on Grand Tour as a lad.
 
Well, I can see why someone would want to murder you, anyway, she thought. He looked every bit the cruel, unpleasant man her nurse had described.
 
She did her best to shake off the paralyzing hold of the elder Rivenwood’s icy gaze, irked at herself. Lud, she was acting as superstitious as Toby now.
 
Get on with it. Determined to be thorough, she began speedily scanning the bookshelves. For the most part, the collection seemed fairly typical. Standard classics of philosophy and literature, dusty tomes in several different languages—Latin, Greek, even a few in Hebrew, along with the usual French, German, and Italian, though most were in English.
 
She noted volumes of poetry and large leather-bound folios with colored prints of fine engravings; books full of architectural drawings; informational volumes about various topics, such as Improvements to Rural Properties Explained; and, of course, no shortage of diverse histories.
 
Suddenly, Serena spotted a book whose gilt title stamped upon the brown leather-bound spine gave her a jolt of recognition.
 
A Collection of Old English Folklore, Volume One, by Lord Tobias Guilfoyle.
 
She pulled it out with no small measure of amazement. What is this doing here?
 
Toby’s first literary work had been published just last year. Which meant that only the current duke could’ve added it to the family collection.
 
And it wasn’t as though her former suitor’s debut book had been some great popular success.
 
Toby had told her that only about a thousand copies had sold, according to his publisher. Azrael must’ve deliberately sought it out for some reason.
 
Hmm. Glancing around again, Serena considered the various odds and ends on display about the bookshelves more closely: small statues, curiosities from foreign lands, a dried piece of coral, a few fossils of insects and leaves.
 
There was a lacquered Chinese puzzle box. An impressive geode split open to reveal glistening purple amethyst crystals inside—but no telltale evidence anywhere of whatever dark business the late duke had got her parents tangled up in before she was born.
 
She shook her head in frustration. I’m getting nowhere. Blast it, this whole effort is probably daft.
 
But having come this far, she wasn’t leaving empty-handed. Glancing over with a frown to make sure the door was still closed, she grew even more brazen and began searching the big oak desk in the middle of the library. Quickly, she sifted through the few items sitting out on the desktop, then tested the drawers, rifling about inside the ones that would open.
 
Nothing.
 
Impatience welled up in her. How much longer can I do this? I’m going to get caught. I should get out of here.
 
It was then she noticed something else odd in this altogether eccentric house.
 
The brass sphinx statue on the corner of the large oak desk was lined up precisely with the pyramids in the background of the duke’s portrait.
 
Why a sphinx should be included in a gothic-style house, she could no more guess than unfortunate travelers could answer the sphinx’s riddles in ancient legends of the mythic beast.
 
Intrigued, she tried to pick the statue up in order to inspect it more closely, but to her surprise, it wouldn’t budge.
 
It was attached to the corner of the desk.
 
Knitting her brow, she fingered the statue in confusion and promptly discovered that the head could bow, bending at the neck like a lever—and then she gasped.
 
For when the sphinx’s head moved, a bank of bookshelves across from her popped away from the wall, revealing a dark, door-like opening.
 
A secret passage!
 
She drew in her breath and stared at the gaping black opening, her eyes wide, her heart thumping.
 
I knew it. She bit her lip, staring into the tunnel’s beckoning darkness. Instinct made her absolutely certain that whatever it was she had come here to find, it was that way, somewhere in there.
 
Dare I?
 
Suddenly, she heard voices in the corridor approaching the other side of the library door. She glanced swiftly over her shoulder, then ahead again at the secret passage.
 
Ignoring her misgivings, Serena paused to lift one of the hollowed-out turnip lamps off the nearest bookshelf.
 
Lantern in hand, she hesitated only for a moment at the threshold, then swallowed hard and stepped through into darkness.
 
The sphinx lifted its head again as Serena pulled the bookcase-door shut behind her, and disappeared into the walls of Rivenwood House.