Author’s Note: Okay, so I am totally feeling the pressure on this one. Quite a few people have remarked about their eagerness to read Ryaden’s story, so I really hope that I don’t disappoint. It took me forever to get started on this story—nearly a year after I finished writing the last one—although I finished writing it in about two weeks once I finally decided how I wanted the story to go. There will be a great deal more editing necessary as I post this book than there were in the other books, so the going will be slow. Please let me know if there are any discrepancies or other such errors! Again, I really hope everyone enjoys this story. Thus far, it’s my favorite (although I’m still writing Book 6). It’s a bit more…risqué than the others, though. Okay, now that I’ve done my little disclaimer…on to the prologue. I know it’s a teaser, but I have a lot of schoolwork to do, so Chapter 1 (and MAYBE Chapter 2) will be up tomorrow.

Prologue

He had never seen hair that color before.

It was a ridiculous thought in the head of a man who knew nothing of the ridiculous, having spent his entire life—with the exception of a few rebellious years between birth and the age of two—perfecting a very staid and sober personality. If sometimes on the inside he secretly longed to be daring or outrageous, these were feelings he would never actually admit to, let alone exhibit.

He could not, however, hide his shock at the sight of the scarlet-haired vixen seated very improperly at the stone bench in the center of his private gardens. Improperly in that not only were her legs encased in men’s riding pants, but she was sprawled out on the bench as if she were…well, a man.

Ryaden was appalled. Disgusted.

Intrigued.

“Oh, dear. I wasn’t supposed to let you see me.”

One blonde brow rose unbidden at her words. She did not appear to be the least bit daunted at having been caught in the Duke of Laporia’s private gardens, in spite of apparently having been told not to get caught. “It seems you have the advantage of me, my dear.” He spoke gently, as was his custom around females, even if this one was not a normal female and appeared to be quite young.

“By reputation only. I’ve never actually seen you before, Duke, but I’ve heard all about you from your servants.”

Maintaining a respectable distance from her, he queried, “Then how is it you knew me upon sight?”

“Because there is kindness in your eyes and a steel pole down your back. And you are wearing such fine clothes,” she added almost as an afterthought.

Ryaden didn’t know if he should feel flattered or insulted. He settled on neither. “You are not one of my servants,” he said surely.

“Of course not. You know every one of your servants’ names, don’t you?”

He inclined his head marginally in acknowledgement but did not expound. Clearly the girl was curious as to why a Duke would trouble himself with something so seemingly menial. Ryaden was certainly not going to tell her that he had originally done so at his father’s insistence, because feigning an interest in one’s servants promoted loyalty. Ogden Davenson had long ago formulated his own recipe for the perfect Duke, and his goal in life had always been to cook his son to perfection. How to handle one’s servants had merely been one of the basic ingredients.

Since his father’s death, however, Ryaden finally had the freedom to add his own flair to his father’s strict dictates. So, in order to ensure loyalty, he actually started taking an active interest in the lives of those who worked for him. If a kitchen maid’s son took ill, Ryaden knew about it and would send his own personal physician to look after the boy. The sooner the child got better, the sooner his mother could get back to work. It really was more efficient to keep constant tabs on everyone.

It also saved him from having to deal with certain distasteful aspects of his personal life.

Namely, his wife.

“You could probably hazard a guess, you know. Make this introduction a bit more interesting,” the mysterious girl suggested with an impish little half-smile. “Do I look like anyone you know?”

Carefully, Ryaden examined her features, searching for some familiar attribute that would clue him in to her identity. Meticulous observation was his forte, as another dictate imposed upon him by his late father had been to protect King and country at all costs. So Ryaden had started a small network of spies to keep him informed of any plots that developed against his sovereign.

The rebellion had happened in spite of him, and the guilt over the fact that he’d been too absorbed in marital problems to fully avert such a disaster still haunted him.

Years later, the rebellion—and the marital problems—continued. Ryaden was singularly focused on fixing the rebellion, however.

Returning his attention to the girl, he looked past her brilliant red hair to her face. Her skin looked like smooth cream—another ridiculous thought, but a true comparison all the same. There appeared to be an imperfection on her very stubborn chin—acne, no doubt, which only proved she was still just a child. As this was obviously not hereditary, he moved on to her nose. Long and slender, like her body, there was absolutely nothing remarkable—or familiar—about her nose. Her eyes maybe? They were an interesting shade of hazel, although they appeared green at the moment thanks to the hue of her shirt. They twinkled with mirth at his very serious inspection of her.

He was just getting to her bone structure when she said, “Let me try this,” and she squinted her left eye a little and puffed out her cheeks in a manner that actually startled a laugh out of him.

Ryaden couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. Or, for that matter, if he had ever laughed.

Just as he was contemplating this, recognition struck. “Angus,” he breathed. “You’re Angus’s daughter. Raya.” It had been three years since he’d brought Angus Wolfe back to Laporia, but the man, while friendly towards his employer, was still largely distrustful of him—with due reason, considering how he’d devoted his life to the horse breeding industry in the province of Laporia, only to have that life ripped away from him by Ryaden’s father. And Ryaden was, and always would be, his father’s son.

Except when it came to Angus. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his head breeder the truth, though, and the truth was that Angus had been the only person during his childhood years who had actually defied the old Duke and treated Ryaden with any modicum of kindness. To Angus Wolfe—then little more than a child as well, having fled the oppression of his own father at fifteen to make a new life for himself—ruffling a young boy’s hair or telling him he was a good lad probably came naturally and likely meant very little.

To Ryaden, it had meant the world. He had practically worshipped the ground the young man walked on and had been devastated when his father fired him. After Ogden Davenson died, Ryaden’s first order of business had been convincing Angus Wolfe to return to Laporia Manor.

He had capitulated, eventually, but he lived with his family in a small home separate from the actual manor. Although he conferred with the man regularly, Ryaden had never even met his wife and children. Probably his head breeder feared the Duke might treat them with contempt because of their Wild origins.

“It was the eye, wasn’t it? Papa’s squinty eye,” the girl said with a delighted laugh.

Ryaden believed he was enchanted. This girl—with her vivid hair and sparkling eyes of indeterminate color—was speaking to him as if he were, well, a regular human being. Not a Duke, not the Duke of Laporia, and not even as Ryaden Davenson, a known uptight prude. Just a man.

It felt…nice.

Still, he could not stop himself from asking, “What are you doing here?”

“In the forbidden gardens?” She grinned broadly. It was a disturbingly familiar smile, and not Angus’s, either. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

“I never actually forbade your father or his family from enjoying my gardens,” he pointed out.

“What makes you think I was enjoying them?” she returned. When he just blinked at her, unsure of what to say, she laughed out loud. “I was teasing you, Duke. They really are quite marvelous.”

“Thank you,” he said uncertainly, “but you did not exactly answer my question.”

“I would have thought you could infer the answer all on your own, though you may ask me again if you would like clarification.”

Slowly, his brain completely addled, Ryaden asked, “What are you doing here?”

She placed her hands on her hips and said tartly, “Why, enjoying your gardens, of course.”

Ryaden could not quite decide if he should laugh or throttle her, so he did neither. When unsure of how to proceed in a situation, it was best to just let the situation proceed on its own. That was a lesson he’d learned early on in life.

“You know,” she said to fill the silence, “most employers are good friends with their horse breeders. I have researched the subject thoroughly. Is it because of our ancestry that you have never once so much as invited us to dinner?”

My, she was blunt. “Your father has never expressed an interest in having dinner with me,” he replied.

“Maybe because you never asked.” She paused and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Or maybe because my mother doesn’t like your wife.”

Ryaden didn’t particularly like his wife, either—not anymore, anyway—but he would never be so crass as to say so out loud. Still, curiosity compelled him to ask, “Why does Lillya dislike my wife?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You mean you weren’t aware that she called my mother a cursed savage bitch?”

Ryaden could not keep his eyes from widening in shock, not only at the fact that this girl was implying that his gentle wife had said something so vicious and cruel, but because he hadn’t known about it. Ryaden knew everything that went on at his manor—or so he’d thought until today. He had certainly known the moment his wife started taking lovers, he was simply too much of a coward to confront her about it.

“Judging by your expression, you really didn’t know.”

“Why hasn’t Angus said anything?” he wondered. Angus was not typically one to hide his feelings. His first words to Ryaden upon his return to Laporia had been, ‘I don’t trust you, and I’m not inclined to like you, but I’ll give you a chance.’

“He doesn’t know, either. I only know because I’m such a meddlesome child and I like to spy on people.” Something they had in common. “Mama was picking flowers along the side of the road one morning and startled the horses leading your wife’s coach. Your wife was apparently in a hurry and was not pleased by the delay of having to change one of the axles on the coach.”

It had been one year ago, then. That was the only time Ryaden could remember Sesellia returning home late from one of her assignations. “I will have a talk with my wife about her manners.”

“And dinner?” She arched a brow at him as imperiously as he’d done to her.

Ryaden had to resist the urge to smile at her impudence. “Is sundown tonight soon enough?”

“I would hate to disrupt his grace’s daily schedule,” she said with mock seriousness.

Unable to keep fighting his own amusement, the Duke of Laporia allowed his lips to curve up into a smile as he assured her, “My dear girl, anything that will cause my wife to dine in a separate room will be worth the interruption.”