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her scarf had caught between some rocks and hanged her. Of course, the family’s scandalous reputation only heightened the rumors that she hanged herself and, in some circles, that she had been hanged, with a suspicious eye cast in Michael’s direction. It was not long afterward that Michael’s father had at last succumbed to the liver ailments that had been brought about by years of overindulgence.
    Michael had worked hard to restore the family name, butafter each scandal he had retreated further and further into himself, shunning legitimate relationships and dallying with loose women. He rarely went to London, and when business required it, he typically arrived late at night and left the same way.
    Michael understandably despised the
ton
, but his elusive behavior had worked to make him all the more interesting to Polite Society. After a few years had passed between his father’s death,
everyone
wanted to meet the Marquis of Darfield or, at the very least, get a glimpse of him. Michael resented that, and rarely left Blessing Park except to go to sea.
    Until last year. That was when he had met Rebecca Davenport, a pretty, young widow. An attachment had developed between them that drew Michael out of his self-imposed banishment. Sam had been happy to see Michael appear in London during the last Season, if only for a fortnight. The
ton
had exalted in the presence of the elusive marquis. The same people who had once turned their backs suddenly showered him with invitations. Women threw themselves in his path, and men tried desperately to get him to sit at their tables in their exclusive clubs. Michael had endured it for Rebecca’s sake for as long as he could but had finally retreated to Blessing Park. He confided to Sam he despised the
ton
more than ever, and not even Rebecca could persuade him to stay in London. Their liaison had almost ended over Rebecca’s need to be seen and Michael’s need to be left alone.
    Now this. Sam felt an unwanted pang of sorrow. If word were to get out that he was forced to marry because of debt, a fresh scandal would erupt, vaulting Michael to the status of blackguard once again. It was grossly unfair.
    “How can I help you, Michael?” Sam finally asked. Michael had shrugged and dragged his gaze to his closest friend.
    “If you would, go and get the little hellion. I suppose there will be a wedding in a day or two,” he had replied, obviously resigned to his fate.

Chapter 3
    After a long, grueling trip through the snow, the coach finally pulled up outside the pink sandstone Georgian mansion. Abbey guessed the house to be three stories; it was at least as large as the grandest state house she had ever seen. But at the moment, it held much less interest for her than the prospect of seeing Michael. After all these years, excitement, anticipation, and a bad case of nerves descended on her as she waited impatiently for Lord Hunt to help her down from the coach.
    She was disappointed when the front door opened and a middle-age man hastened out into the snow. Behind him another, slightly older man waited at the door, twisting his white-gloved hands nervously together. The younger man glanced at Abbey without really seeing her, then back to Sam.
    “Lord Hunt, don’t
tell
me you could not locate her!” he said sharply.
    “Don’t be an idiot, Sebastian.
This
is Miss Carrington,” Sam said gruffly.
    Sebastian jerked his gaze to Abbey and stared in astonishment. “M-Miss Carrington?” he stammered. Then recoveringquickly, he bowed and swept his arm toward the manor. “Miss Carrington, if you please,” he murmured.
    Abbey laughed tautly. “Should I conclude from your reaction that you were expecting a woman with two heads?”
    “Certainly not!” Sebastian blustered, and motioned again toward the door.
    Abbey dashed lightly across the snow to the foyer. Inside, the gentleman in black bowed deeply.
    “Welcome to Blessing Park, Miss Carrington,” he intoned. “I am Jones, the butler.