Back in London, Leo—with the help of his old friends the eccentric Britton family—sets out to unravel what he’s forgotten… Is Dagmar truly the wonderful, irrepressible woman who makes his heart sing, or is she a dangerous enigma bent on his destruction?

Prologue

Leopold Ernst George Mortimer, seventh Earl of March, defender of the crown, spy in the service of the (occasionally insane) king, and sometime rescuer of kittens stuck in a tree, was not a happy man.

“I am not a happy man,” he informed the kitten as he reached out to pluck it from its leafy bower and received a branch to the mouth for his efforts.

“Why not?”

For one extremely disconcerting moment, Leo thought the kitten had spoken. But since the question originated some distance below him, he quickly discarded that idea. “Why not what?” he asked, removing the branch so he could speak. Barely discernible through the foliage was the slight figure of a girl child, aged about eight and perched with apparent ease on the back of Galahad, his large bay gelding.

“Why aren’t you happy? Is it because you’re English? My grandmamma was English. Mama says all English are unhappy because they don’t live in Denmark. Are you sad because you don’t live in Denmark?”

“I’m not sad at all.”

“You said you were.”

He edged forward along the branch. The kitten, a small hissing bundle of gray-striped fur, appeared to share his general dissatisfaction with life, for not only was it trying to make itself look as large and menacing as possible, but it also appeared to suddenly realize that the sharp things in its mouth and on the ends of its feet might have a use in dissuading its removal from the tree. “I said I was not happy.”

“That’s the same thing,” the girl pointed out, then winced when the kitten took defensive action.

“Damn you!” Leo growled, snatching back his hand from where he had the cat cornered.

“You said a bad thing!” gasped the girl.

“Yes, I did.” He made another lunge for the cat and got his hand scratched a second time.

“Mama says that people who say bad words are godless heathens. Are you a godless heathen?”

Leo bit back the urge to expound on what he thought of her mother’s teachings and concentrated on capturing the hell-spawn beast without any further damage to life or limb.

“Mama says that people who say the bad thing you said are ignorant because they can’t think of anything else to say.”

“I can think of a thing or two to say to your mother right now. How is it you speak English so well?” He feigned a move to the left, attempting to catch the kitten off guard, but young though it was, it had a feline wisdom that kept it just beyond his reach.

“Mama taught me. She says that someday, when my brothers are older, we will go to England and see Grandmama. Don’t hurt Francis!” This last was in reaction to the sight of Leo removing his jacket, waistcoat, and one of his braces.