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  Chapter 1

  Being stuck in a tree on a rather precarious and shaky limb wasn’t actually an unfortunate position to be in, at least not if you were a boy looking for an adventure. That the person stuck was a female, a lady at that, more specifically Lady Kitson Fairbright, daughter-in-law to the elderly, high-nosed Duke of Sprogsfield and mother to his three-year-old grandson, changed the equation and put her in something of a pickle.

  Not that she didn’t always seem to be in one. According to the duke, Julia was constantly trampling on the strict rules he and Society dictated for a young widow. He was always itching for her impulsive ways to land her in trouble so he could make good on his promise to take her son and raise the boy himself.

  Which was why she never should have climbed the tree in St. James Park. And especially on her first day in London. But what was she to do? When they’d arrived earlier in the day, she couldn’t deny Chatwyn’s request to play in the park. He’d been traveling in a hot, bumpy carriage for two and a half days. The long journey was torture for an active four-year-old boy.

  Unfortunately, the fine webbing of Julia’s butterfly net had caught in a branch of the old elm just as she trapped the beautifully winged insect. No amount of pulling or yanking brought the net down. She couldn’t let the butterfly suffer an untimely demise in the rare late-summer heat. With an extreme amount of mental fortitude and more physical strength than she thought possible, she had thrilled her son and appalled his governess by scaling the tree. Holding on to the limb above her head for balance, she’d sidestepped out as far as she dared, and reached over. Taking great care not to touch the delicate wings, she freed the butterfly from its prison but couldn’t dislodge the net.

  Her discovery that the tatted collar sewn onto her dress had become tangled in a cluster of small branches and now held her hostage wasn’t what caused her moment of panic, an emotion that wasn’t common to Julia. She’d calmly removed her bonnet so it wouldn’t get caught and went about trying to free the lace at her nape with one hand while continuing to steady herself with the other. All she’d managed for her struggles was a damp neck from the exertion, raw palms, and a pair of summer white gloves that would have to be thrown away.

  Yet, still remaining mostly unruffled, Julia had thought about her options and decided on the only sensible one. She’d sent her son and Miss Periwinkle home with instructions for the governess to return quickly with scissors so she could cut herself out of the knotted mess. Julia had much to do before the duke arrived in London.

  Three weeks ago, she’d overheard him talking with his solicitor about a company he owned—one of many that weren’t recorded in his name but he controlled. Julia had to get her hands on the documents of one in particular. If she found it, she could prove he wasn’t the righteous standard-bearer for how one should obey rules of Society, conduct matters of business, and treat their fellowman fairly—even generously.

  Julia looked at her widow’s dress. A small collar was all the trim the duke thought a proper widow should wear. He believed he knew better than anyone else what was right and what was wrong. What was acceptable and what must never be said or done. Society had kowtowed to him and agreed there was no other man more fair-minded or respectable than the revered Duke of Sprogsfield. Everyone in the ton believed he had never stepped a foot outside the straight line he drew for how one should conduct one’s life, be it gambling, drinking, or dallying with the opposite sex. The problem was that he expected Julia not to either.

  The duke himself was a younger son and was never supposed to inherit the dukedom. He had been educated to be a clergyman, and he’d never put aside his strict code of what he considered right and wrong after he became the duke. He made it easy for people to assume he was better, wiser, and saintlier than they were.

  While other widows were unregimented by such a pretender and could enjoy the somewhat relaxed freedoms their status availed them, Julia was not and could not. And as soon as she was free from the tree, she would return to the duke’s house and begin her quest to end his tyrannical ways.

  It was daunting to think about taking on the duke, but she had no choice. The first thing she planned to do was start acquainting herself with the staff’s current habits. She’d overheard the duke telling his solicitor that all the papers concerning his secret companies were hidden in his London house. She must find them before he recovered from his illness and joined her in London.

  Julia would have to be careful and elude the servants. There was no reason she should be in the duke’s bedchamber, dressing chamber, or private book room—the most likely places for him to hide the documents. It would definitely cause suspicions if she were seen in any of those rooms, and she had no doubt that the housekeeper or the footman would make sure the duke was told if she were caught trespassing. And Julia had no doubt the duke would drag himself from his sickbed to get to London if he should ever have an inkling about what she was up to.

  Yet the thought of success and confronting him with her findings when he arrived in London heartened her while she waited to be freed from the tree. She desperately needed proof the duke wasn’t the pious and honorable man he portrayed himself to be but a charlatan and, in truth, an odious man.

  Julia closed her eyes and breathed in the pungent scent of drying bark and sun-kissed foliage. She heard a bee buzzing nearby and laughter from the children she’d seen in the distance. Ever since she heard the duke discussing the secret companies, she’d envisioned finding the proof of his lies and telling him if he didn’t allow her and Chatwyn to be free of him and his rigid ways, she would expose his secrets to all of Society.

  She opened her eyes and peered through the canopy of leaves to see if Miss Periwinkle was in sight. There was no sign of the governess, but she saw a gentleman walking his horse straight toward her as if he’d known she was ensconced among the branches. Her normal calm threatened to desert her. She hoped he would pass without a whiff of notice. Carefully, she drew her feet closer together, and lifted the hem of her dark plum-colored skirt to the tops of her walking boots to conceal herself further into the tree that thankfully was still in the full bloom of summer.

  Julia couldn’t see the man’s face from her vantage point with the brim of his hat riding low, plus the way he held his head down as if he were a determined man on a mission. He was powerful-looking with wide, straight shoulders and long, lean legs that were fitted into shiny black knee boots that had short leather tassels at the top. They seemed to wink at her with every step he took. There was no doubt he had the strong, confident stride of a man who knew his place in the world, what he wanted and didn’t care what others thought.

  To her surprise and annoyance, he didn’t pass by her but stopped at the base of the tree and patted the horse’s neck. The fine cut and fabric of his coat suggested he was a gentleman, but she didn’t recognize him. Carefully watching him, she wondered why he tarried. She started imagi
ning what he could be doing. Was he pausing to take a drink from his flask, or a late-afternoon nap in the last sun rays of the day? But then an entirely different idea crossed her mind. Maybe he was waiting to have a tryst with a woman.

  Right beneath her!

  And that’s what caused Julia’s moment of panic and the loud gasp that gave away her position.

  The horse tossed its head and shuddered.

  The man looked up.

  Julia froze.

  “What the deuce are you doing up there?” he asked incredulously, looking as startled as she was.

  “Nothing,” she answered defensively, tamping down her horror at being caught, yet somehow managing not to be completely mortified by the unfortunate event.

  She was now sure she’d never seen the man before. And even more sure he was no gentleman. Gentlemen removed their hats—or at the very least pushed them farther up their foreheads—when meeting a lady. Even if said lady was in a tree. He did neither.

  Focusing on his face, she took in his full, nicely shaped brows, angular cheekbones, and slightly square chin that made him as handsome as any man she’d ever seen. She watched his gaze skim over her, too, just slowly enough to cause a curl of feminine interest to shimmy in her chest. At that, the heat of the afternoon swelled heavily around her, flaming her already flushed cheeks.

  Staring up at her with a quizzical expression, he offered, “That’s a rather odd place to be standing around and doing nothing.”

  But true. She’d long since given up on finding the strength to break the durable tatting thread, tear the well-made fabric, or twist in two the branch that held her captive. She must have sworn a hundred times already that she’d never trap another butterfly in a net to give it closer inspection no matter how much her son pleaded.

  Realizing she still held the tail of her dress above her boots, she quickly released it and said, “Never mind about me, sir. I don’t know who you are and you should be on your way.”

  Sweeping his hat off his head, he tossed it on top of his saddle without taking his gaze from hers, and with a teasing glint in his eyes he said, “Mr. Garrett Stockton at your service.”

  Julia almost gasped again. She knew the name and the man’s reputation as a rake and a man who didn’t obey anyone’s rules. He was said to have a mistress on every continent and more than half a dozen in London alone. She could understand why. He was a handsome devil—just as she’d heard. Strangely, their paths had never crossed when he was in London. He wasn’t the kind of man she’d forget meeting.

  There was a building in St. James that bore the name Stockton Shipping Company, and it was his. She’d heard talk about the intriguing sea adventurer fighting pirates, and having the Spanish armada chasing his ships. Looking at him, she supposed it could be true. The gossip in Society seemed to be that whenever he was invited to parties every young lady in attendance wanted him to take her out on the dance floor. Julia wondered why the gossip wasn’t that all the ladies wanted him to take them into the garden for a forbidden kiss.

  But now wasn’t the time to keep thinking about how attractive he was or peruse her memory for more gossip about him. She had to figure out how she was going to get out of this with some of her dignity intact.

  She needed him to go away and forget he ever saw her.

  “I am Lady Kitson Fairbright, Mr. Stockton.”

  He gave her a bow and said, “My lady.”

  Julia wasn’t sure whether he recognized her name as the daughter-in-law of the influential Duke of Sprogsfield. Mr. Stockton pushed both sides of his dark blue coat behind him, rested his gloved hands on decidedly slim hips, and continued to stare.

  He wasn’t making this easy for her. Did he think a lady wanted to be caught in a tree by a stranger—or by anyone? Usually Julia could control whatever situation in which she found herself. But this afternoon everything had gone wrong.

  She attempted to dismiss him again by saying, “Whatever it was you were going to do or whatever secret rendezvous you might have planned, you’ll have to move away and find another place.”

  With a slight, intriguing half smile, he said, “I have no secret plans to meet anyone under this tree. I’m in London because a friend of mine will be marrying soon and I want to attend his wedding. I’m in the park because trees are something I want to see after a long voyage. Now, that branch you’re on doesn’t look particularly sturdy. I don’t think it’s safe.”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” she responded confidently, even though there was no truth to her words. She was getting more worried by the moment in her cascade of greenery. Her arms were tired from holding on to the limb above her head, first with one hand and then the other to keep from losing her balance, falling off, and hanging herself. But that was too gruesome to think about. And admitting she’d done something so outlandishly impulsive that she needed any help she could get right now didn’t come easily to her nature.

  Instead, Julia resisted the urgency and cold hard truth of her peril again, continued to stare straight ahead as if studying something important, and said, “I’m enjoying the view. In the distance I see at least three carriages rumbling along, and a lady and a gentleman are walking with a dog—a spaniel, I think. Another couple has three children with them, and much farther down, I see a crowd gathering around a cart. Someone must be selling sweet cakes, or perhaps there will be a puppet show.”

  As if to emphasize her jeopardy, her arm trembled as she finished her sentence. Where in heaven’s name was Miss Periwinkle? It shouldn’t take her so long to get home, grab a pair of scissors and get back to the park.

  A rustling noise caught her attention and she looked down. Mr. Stockton was wrapping the reins over a bunch of low-hanging leaves.

  Her heartbeat skipped with apprehension. “What are you doing?”

  “Securing the horse. I don’t know why you climbed the tree, Lady Kitson, but it will be dusk soon. I’m not going to walk away and leave you standing up there.”

  Why was it that sometimes things that appeared relatively simple in their inception frequently had a way of turning into ill-timed problems for her?

  She understood the wisdom of his words, but stifling her very real fears about her predicament, she said, “My son’s governess was here with me. She will be returning shortly.”

  “How is she going to help you to the ground? You must be up at least eight or nine feet.”

  Julia was hot, tired, and exasperated. A feeling of weary surrender settled over her. “Oh, piffle,” she said as a pain of anxiety struck her stomach. She had to believe Miss Periwinkle was only a minute or two away. “I might as well tell you so you’ll leave me in peace. If you must know,” she began, recounting the misadventure that had her trapped. She concluded, “Thankfully the butterfly is now free.”

  She watched his eyes scan the tree and knew when his gaze lighted on the dangling net. “You must have been running and jumping to get it caught up that high. Climbing the tree was brave and kindhearted.”

  “But foolish as well,” she suddenly admitted honestly, hating to reveal the seriousness of her situation to this man but grateful he seemed to understand the reason behind her jeopardy. Out of frustration, she reached to the back of her neck and tugged on her clothing again. “When Miss Periwinkle returns with scissors I will cut myself free and climb down. You must leave. The Duke of Sprogsfield is quite rigid when it comes to my following the accepted behavior of widowhood, and I simply cannot be seen with a man helping me down from a tree.” Especially such a young and handsome one. “Now, please go.”

  There was a firm set to his full lips and jaw. He placed his hands on his hips again and in a resolved manner asked, “Can you move?”

  Such a simple question. Her temples were beginning to pound from the oppressive heat, from the exhaustion of holding first one hand and then the other over her head. “Very little without strangling myself,” she confessed, realizing even the fresh green scent had become stifling. “My collar isn’t detach
able but I will manage.” Somehow. Surely. She would get herself down.

  “I’m not leaving you up there.”

  Grabbing the sides of the substantial trunk with his gloved hands and fine-leather booted feet as if steel spikes were attached to them, he started climbing up. One firm clutch at a time.

  “No, don’t do that, Mr. Stockton. Please. No.”

  It seemed only a second or two later he was standing on the widest point of the same wobbly limb with her, but with his back and weight pressed tight against the trunk and his eyes staring intently into hers. She suddenly felt as if all the quivering leaves on the tree were in her stomach as every muscle in her body tensed at his closeness. He stood beside her, tall, confident, and decidedly male. An unmistakable awareness passed between them. What struck her even more disturbingly was that he had ignored her pleas to go away. He was determined to help her. How many times had she asked others to help her break free of the duke’s domination so she and Chatwyn could be free to live by themselves? Countless. Everyone had refused her, including the duke’s two older sons and his daughter. They were as restricted by him as Julia was. And now this man was helping her when she wasn’t even in need of it. Julia knew Miss Periwinkle would return.

  Rays of late-afternoon sunshine found a sliver of space between the bouquets of leaves, glistening off his golden-brown eyes and highlighting strands of his tawny-brown hair. She wanted to reach out and brush the wayward strands away from his forehead, but held back that feminine instinct and asked, “How did you do that so fast?”

  “I’ve climbed the mast of a ship many times.”

  Julia stilled. Her heartbeat slowed as long-ago memories rushed past. The mention of any ship always brought the sinking of the Salty Dove to mind. It had taken her husband’s life and more than one hundred others. She lowered her lashes over her eyes, as she often did in a show of respect, honor, and memory of all who were affected that day by the passenger ship going down in a violent storm off the coast of Portugal.