Cover

Title Page

Dedication

To anyone who has ever longed to be loved for who they are

And to Roy, for everything

Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more.

Tap here to learn more.

Acknowledgments

As always, this book would not exist without the support of many wonderful people. My fabulous editor, Leah Hultenschmidt, who gave me the green light I’d dreamed of. The team at Forever, including Jodi Rosoff and the intrepid art department, for the times you went above and beyond. My brilliant agent, Lauren Abramo, for wisdom, encouragement, and friendship.

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Rose Lerner, who makes every book better. My thanks go to Olivia Waite for the assist in Latin. Emma Locke, Erica Monroe, and my early reader crew—thank you so, so much for your feedback and enthusiasm. Big thanks also go to Aleksei Valentin for the help. Intrepid assistant Laura Stout, for being my right hand in the United States, handling everything I cannot from Costa Rica. Darc, Jean, Lace, Lenore, Pintip, and Susan for the texts from the trenches and all the mutual support. You made the pandemic not only bearable, but productive—an amazing feat, and I love you for it.

Muchísimas gracias to Roy Prendas, who makes every single day happy ever after. Te adoro, mi ’pote.

And enormous thanks go to my amazing, wonderful readers. You’re all so fun and funny and smart. I love your emails and adore chatting books together in the newsletter VIP List, on social media, and in our Historical Romance Book Club group on Facebook. Your enthusiasm makes the romance happen.

Thank you for everything!

1

1

October 1817
London, England

Tommy Wynchester strolled off one of the many boats docked at Billingsgate and melted into the marketplace. The smell of the water permeated the crisp air, as did the cacophony of voices, punctuated by the cries of vendors hawking fish, crabs, and countless other treats and treasures.

It was the perfect place for a boatman to disappear.

From the busy stalls clustered along the dock, a gentleman emerged. The brim of his hat was pulled down low against the chill autumn wind, but Tommy didn’t need to see his face to recognize him. Tall and rugged. Black hair and bronze skin. An annoying habit of quoting dramatically from the morning scandal columns when one was trying to eat one’s breakfast.

“You got it?” Graham murmured when their elbows were close enough to touch.

“Of course.” She slid him the package.

He continued on.

In moments, Tommy’s brother had vanished into the milling crowd, slipperier than the eels hawked beside the water. He might have a horse tied to a post somewhere under guard. Or he might scale the brick in a narrow alleyway, choosing to race across rooftops instead of slog through the congested street traffic.