The Black Warlock screamed his rage and ran through the fire. But it was just as magical as the one he had cast twelve years before, and, like the White Sorceress, he burned alive.

The Black Prince stood alone and knew that nothing his father had taught him could quell these flames.

Then from the sky the Golden Falcon swooped down.

“No, go back!” shouted the Black Prince.

But the bird ignored him and landed within the fiery circle. At once she transformed into a golden-haired woman.…

—From The Black Prince and the Golden Falcon

Baby Sophie was simply adorable.

Alf watched as the toddler, clad in a white chemise with a wide, sky-blue girdle, determinedly placed her fat little hands on the settee and pulled herself upright. She grinned at her accomplishment, revealing tiny perfect teeth in her chubby little face.

“Well done, darling,” Megs told her.

The three of them sat in Megs’s newly refurbished sitting room, taking tea. Well, she and Megs were drinking tea. Sophie had gummed a bit of hard biscuit—abandoned under the table now—and was making it her mission to explore as much of the room as possible.

The baby placed her hand next to Alf’s skirt and carefully sidled toward her, keeping a grip on the settee the entire time. Her goal appeared to be the gold-edged plate on Alf’s lap, which held a slice of lemon cake.

“You could become a governess of some sort,” Megs mused, rubbing her belly absently.

Alf looked at her doubtfully. “All I know how to do is break into houses, gather information, and sword fight.” She thought. “Oh, and climb buildings.”

“Well, it would certainly make for an interesting curriculum.” Megs took a sip of tea. “Really, you don’t have to look for work at all. I quite like having you here, and with the new baby coming soon, I’ll need the extra help.”

Alf tried to smile at the generous offer, but it was hard. She was heartbroken, plain and simple. She’d told everything to Megs and then St. John after she’d arrived on their doorstep three nights ago. Even their kindness and the sweet adorableness of little Sophie couldn’t replace what she’d lost.

She wanted Hugh. She wanted Hugh and his boys, and she wanted…

She caught her breath as Sophie reached her lap and laid a tiny hand on her knee, grinning up at her with infant charm.

She wanted a child of her own. A child with Hugh.

Alf bent her head and hid her face as tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. That wasn’t going to happen. Ever.

She had to somehow make herself understand that, not only in her mind but in her heart as well.

She had to find a way to give up hope.

There was a crash and a terrific shout from downstairs.

Sophie startled, her hand hitting the plate on Alf’s lap. The plate slid to the floor and smashed.

The baby opened her mouth and let out a loud wail.

Megs moved very fast for a woman with an enormous belly and snatched her child up. “What was that?”

Alf was already on her feet. She caught up her skirts and ran into the hall.

The sitting room was on the floor above the entrance hall, and the staircase was open, with a balcony rail running around the upper floor. She leaned over and looked straight down. St. John had his hands fisted and was facing Hugh, who was sprawled over one of the hall tables. Behind him a mirror on the wall had been smashed to pieces.

Alf felt her heart expand and suddenly start beating fast, as if it’d been frozen for days.

“Bother,” Megs said from beside her. “I liked that mirror.” She hoisted a sniffling Sophie on her hip. “I take it that’s the Duke of Kyle?”

Alf nodded, unable to speak.

He’d turned his head at Megs’s voice and was staring up at Alf now, his eyes black and intense. She could only stare back, her heart pounding in her ears so loudly she couldn’t think. Why had he come?

“You may return, Your Grace, tomorrow at a more convenient hour,” St. John said to Hugh, sounding cool and collected. Only those who knew him well could tell how furious he was. “I believe we are to sit down to dinner soon and I am not used to receiving guests without prior introduction or invitation.”

Megs cleared her throat. “I don’t think dinner is all that soon.”

“I don’t particularly care what you have to say to Alf,” St. John continued.

“I do,” Megs muttered.

“But you will keep in mind that she has many choices, and I am not entirely certain that you are the best of them.”

There was a short silence.

Hugh had never taken his gaze from Alf during all this time. She could feel herself trembling under that intense black stare. She wanted to talk to him, but if he was here simply to tear her heart apart again…

She wasn’t sure she’d survive a second time.

“Let me speak to you, Alf,” Hugh said.

She swallowed, feeling as if her heart had climbed right up into her throat.

Megs gave a gusty sigh. “Oh, Godric, it makes me quite faint when you come over all lord-of-the-manor and master-of-the-circumstances, but you really shouldn’t do it to a lady in such a delicate condition as I am.”

St. John made an irritable sound under his breath and glanced up at his wife.

Who smiled beatifically at him. “Have I told you that Sophie was trying to say bombast today? I think that quite an advanced word for a one-year-old, don’t you?”

“Meggie, it seems very unlikely that she’s trying to say bombast.”

Lady Margaret’s smile didn’t waver at her husband’s gently chiding tone. Instead it grew slightly wider. “Do you think so? Perhaps you ought to help me put her to bed and hear for yourself. And in the meantime His Grace and Alf can have a short discussion in my sitting room.”

St. John’s lips thinned as he locked gazes with his wife. They seemed to have some sort of wordless exchange, at the end of which St. John nodded abruptly. “A half hour only.”

Megs took Alf’s arm and quickly led her into the sitting room, still carrying baby Sophie.

“Good luck,” she murmured, kissing her on the cheek. “Remember, he might be a duke, but he’s a man, too. Just a man. I’ve found that they can make terrible asses of themselves sometimes.” Megs stood back and regarded Alf seriously from eyes that matched her daughter’s. “And Godric was right, you know, you do have choices. I wouldn’t mind if you stayed with us for a very long time. Don’t let that duke talk you into anything you don’t truly want with his pirate mouth.”

And then Megs was gone from the sitting room. Alf could hear her in the hall, saying something about bombast as her voice and St. John’s faded.

She breathed in and out, feeling as if all her life, before and after, had narrowed to this one point in time.

Hugh walked in.

He looked horrible. He hadn’t bothered with his wig, his eyes were shadowed, and he’d forgotten to shave. His right cheekbone was red and beginning to swell where St. John had hit him. He’d most likely have a black eye in the morning.

She wanted to run to him and wrap her arms around him and never let go.

Instead she clasped her hands together tightly so they wouldn’t do anything daft. “Would you like to sit down?”

He ignored her invitation and kept walking toward her, big and broad and here.

“Alf,” he said, just before he took her face between his palms and kissed her.

She couldn’t keep her hands confined then. She sobbed and ran her hands over his shorn hair, his dear head, his neck, his shoulders.

“Why did you leave me?” he muttered against her lips as if he couldn’t stand to pull away long enough to hear her answer.

“You paid me,” she replied, her tears running into their open mouths. “You were done with me.”

“I’ll never be done with you, imp. Never.” He crushed her against his chest, so close she wasn’t sure if it was his heart or her own that she heard beating. “I paid you because I thought it was the honorable thing to do. And I thought you would like to go shopping while I was with Shrugg.”

She pulled away—or tried to; he scowled and wouldn’t let her move. “Shopping?”

Both of his cheekbones were reddened now. “You only had the clothes on your back. I thought you might like…something.” He glowered at her. “I never meant for you to leave. I want you to stay with me forever.”

He seemed sincere, but…“You were so stiff that morning. So strange and cold.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m not like you.” He laughed under his breath, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “You grew up in desperation and squalor, and yet you’re able to hope and dream. I don’t quite know how you can, but I love you for it.” He opened his black, black eyes, and she saw in them wonder and pain and vulnerability. “You’re much more courageous than I am, imp. I’ve had everything material handed to me on a golden platter, and yet I find it… difficult to hope as you do. Even more difficult, I think, to trust.”

“To trust me?” she whispered, feeling hurt.

“No, never,” he said fiercely. “To trust myself. To trust in the future, I suppose. To open my hands and let go of the reins of control and simply trust that things—my life, my family, our happiness—will turn out well.” He frowned down at her. “Do you understand?”

“No,” she said simply, but she smiled to take away the sting of the word. “No, because if you say you love me then I believe everything will turn out well. It simply must. For I love you, too.”

He laid his forehead against hers. “I do love you, heart and soul and body, Alf, my imp. I love you now and forever, and I will trust and I will hope in your dreams and hope.”

“That’s all we need, really,” she whispered.

He kissed her, so sweetly, like a promise, and when she opened her eyes he asked, “Will you marry me, Alf?”

And she said, “Yes, guv.”

Which was when Megs burst in and clapped her hands and said, “Oh, good! I do love a wedding.”

APRIL

OAKDALE PARK, NOTTINGHAMSHIRE

Iris smiled as she climbed the stairs to the nursery in Oakdale Park, carrying a small bag. It was quite early in the morning, and yet the big country house was buzzing with activity and excitement.

But then, it wasn’t every day the Duke of Kyle was to be married to his true love.

Few knew of the secret wedding and fewer still had been invited. Aristocratic society could be very cruel and when Iris had realized that Hugh actually intended to marry Alf, she suggested a very tiny white lie. Iris and Hugh would simply not announce that they no longer had an understanding. After all, there had never been an official engagement. If others assumed that they still intended to be wed, well, that was their affair wasn’t it? Alf had moved into Kyle House, but as she was a nobody, no one in society really took any notice.

Hugh and Alf had planned their wedding for the last three months and then decamped with the boys to Oakdale Park, Kyle’s country residence in Nottinghamshire. Here they would wed in a small family ceremony and stay until well into fall—far from society. The news of the Duke of Kyle’s scandalous mésalliance would slowly filter back to the London gossips and no doubt cause quite a stir. But by September or October some other cause célèbre would’ve caught the scandalmongers’ fickle attention and they could return to London.

That is what they hoped in any case, and really, Iris saw no reason why the plan shouldn’t work.

After all, Hugh was certainly not the first duke to cause a scandal by marrying a penniless lady with no family or name.

Iris supposed she ought to be disappointed that it wasn’t her wedding day, but really, she couldn’t find it within herself to bother. She was very fond of both Hugh and Alf, and she loved the boys.

Which was why she had slipped away just for a moment from helping to dress Alf.

She paused on the upstairs landing, glancing out of the old diamond-paned windows. Oakdale was surrounded by an overgrown wood—quite a magical place—but sometimes she thought she saw movement in the trees.

Obviously she’d not spent enough time in the country.

Iris picked up her sunset pink skirts and continued her climb.

She could hear giggles when she neared the open door to the nursery.

Iris peeked in and saw Peter on the floor with the ridiculously named Pudding. He was getting dog hair all over his new dark-blue suit. Christopher knelt beside him. As she watched, the older boy rolled a wooden ball across the nursery floor. Pudding tumbled after it, caught it in her mouth, and then promptly ran away with her prize to hide under a chair.

Peter giggled.

Christopher, however, was of a sterner mind. “No, Pudding,” he chided, peering under the chair at the puppy. “You’re supposed to bring back the ball, not keep it.”

He reached under the chair and pulled out the ball—with the puppy still attached, all four of her small paws firmly planted on the floor.

Peter rolled around on the floor, convulsing with laughter.

Iris cleared her throat.

Both boys looked up.

She smiled at them. “Pudding probably just needs more practice.”

“Maybe,” Christopher said doubtfully.

Iris glanced around the nursery. “Where are your nursemaids?”

“Milly went to fetch our breakfast, and Annie is polishing my shoes,” Peter said.

“Ah.” She noticed for the first time that Peter was indeed in his stocking feet. “Is Annie in your bedroom?”

“Yes,” Peter said.

“Perhaps you should find her and see if she can brush your suit as well,” Iris suggested.

Peter bent at the waist and looked down at himself. “Oh.” He turned and trudged off in the direction of the boys’ bedroom.

“I have something for you,” Iris said to Christopher.

“You do?” He put the puppy down and straightened. In the past three months Christopher had lost most of his angry moods. He’d slowly become closer to his father and had started to smile more.

Iris had always thought that he resembled Hugh the most—the boy had Hugh’s dark coloring, his black hair and eyes, and even his scowl and brooding air on occasion. But there were moments, like this one, when she caught a glimpse of Katherine in him. Something about the excitement in his face at the thought of a surprise. The wonder of the unexpected.

Katherine was a part of him, too.

Iris sat in a nursery chair and opened the bag she’d brought with her. She took out the slim red leather volume that she’d found in Christopher’s bed so many weeks ago.

The boy’s eyes widened when he saw it. “That’s my mama’s.”

She nodded. “Yes, it is. I owe you an apology, Christopher. I found this in your room and I took it without permission. I’m sorry. I can only say that I miss your mother very, very much.”

Christopher’s lower lip trembled as he took the diary back. He opened the book and looked inside. “Some of the pages are missing.”

“I cut them out,” she said gently. “It’s a private diary, and some of the things your mother wrote, she probably didn’t want you to read. I’ve kept the pages, and when you are grown up and are a man, if you would like to read them, I will give them to you.”

He nodded, still staring at the book. Then Christopher closed it and stroked the leather cover. “I didn’t read it. I just liked having it because it was hers.”

She reached out her hand, hesitated, and finally laid it on his shoulder. “I understand.”

From the bedroom they could hear Peter’s voice raised in argument. The poor nursemaid was apparently having difficulties in cleaning his suit.

Christopher darted a look at the bedroom and then at her.

“Lady Jordan?” he whispered.

“Yes, love?”

“When Father marries Alf today…” He trailed off as his brows drew together. It was an expression that reminded her very much of his father. He inhaled. “When they are married, will Alf be my mother?”

She bit her lip. “Do you want her to be?”

He was staring at the diary again, stroking the cover. “Maybe.”

“Then maybe she could be,” Iris said gently. “Or maybe she could just stay Alf. I don’t think you need make up your mind right away, do you?”

He sighed, looking relieved, and shook his head.

Iris smiled and stood. “Then I suggest we finish getting ready. We do have a wedding to attend this morning.”

And at that he grinned.

HUGH STOOD IN the yellow sitting room that stretched all along the back of Oakdale Park. The manor was ancient, a venerable residence that had reverted to the Crown when the previous owner died without an heir. Which might explain the curiously outmoded decor of the manor and the overgrown gardens. Katherine had hated the country and had never stepped foot in Oakdale Park.

Alf, in contrast, had half hung out of the carriage window the first time they’d driven up to Oakdale Park. Apparently it had been love at first sight, for she’d exclaimed over the vine-covered facade, the dark paneling in the entry hall, and the odd colors previous tenants had chosen for the rooms. When Hugh had made a vague reference to possibly clearing some of the overgrown trees near the manor, she’d been brought nearly to tears.

Who would’ve thought that a St Giles urchin would so love the country?

Now he waited impatiently beside an elderly bishop for Alf to come downstairs so that they could be married.

Finally.

His men, all in their best, stood beside him. Kit and Peter sat with their nursemaids and were behaving very well—though Peter gave an impatient wriggle every now and again. St. John and his wife were in attendance, the wife already dabbing at her eyes in between chatting with Iris. Almost the entire manor staff—save for those involved with the wedding breakfast preparations—were lined up at the back wall to witness the wedding.

Behind Hugh, seated facing the rest of the room, was their surprise guest—the King. He wore a plum suit and white wig and otherwise looked quite ordinary—were one to miss the jewels that encrusted his buttons. Shrugg was a discreet—and rather scandalized—presence beside His Majesty. This was only the fourth time in his life that Hugh had met his father in person and he wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about it.

Alf, of course, had been thrilled, and that, he supposed, was all that mattered.

The first time he’d married, Hugh remembered being nervous. And mostly looking forward to the wedding night and bedding Katherine.

This time…

Well, this time he was still looking forward to the wedding night, but it was much more than that with Alf.

He was looking forward to spending the rest of his life with her. To waking with her. To sitting across the dining room table from her. To taking the children to the fair and boating on the Thames with her.

To perhaps bringing more children, children they created together, into their family.

It wasn’t the life he’d envisioned eight years ago when he’d wed Katherine. He certainly wouldn’t be doing the diplomatic work Shrugg wanted him involved in. But this was the life he wanted. This was the life that brought him joy.

The door to the sitting room opened.

Hugh wondered vaguely if he would always feel this punch to the stomach on first seeing her.

Alf walked in. She was wearing a new dress—one of many he’d insisted she have made in the last months. Her wedding dress was white, with tiny purple embroidered flowers scattered all over the skirt, bodice, and sleeves. A thin line of embroidery outlined the square bodice and the elbow-length sleeves. And in her swept-up hair she wore the amethyst pins he’d given her as a wedding present.

She was beautiful, his imp.

Beside her were two little girls holding hands. Hannah and Mary Hope wore matching white dresses. Hannah was solemn and wide-eyed while little Mary Hope had her thumb in her mouth. The girls would be his wards after today.

A part of their family.

Hannah and Mary Hope marched between the chairs to take their seats with Peter and Kit and the nursemaids. Peter immediately leaned over and whispered something in Hannah’s ear and the two giggled. Those two would bear watching.

But at the moment Hugh had eyes only for his bride.

Alf smiled, her lips trembling just a little, as she neared him, and he held out his hand.

When she laid her palm in his, he drew her near. “Are you ready, imp?”

“Yes, guv,” she whispered, and he felt that soaring joy, that wild freedom, he’d once feared. This time, though, he knew his love for Alf was nothing to fear.

Alf’s love brought only hope.