Bestselling author Amalie Howard delivers the unputdownable companion novel to Lady Zenobia--Zia--Osborn, a lord’s daughter, gifted pianist, and a diamond of the first water, is furious that her entire life has been mapped out for her.;What good is skill or intelligence if one is forced to suffocate it? She’d much rather make her mark on the world than bat her eyelashes for the Zia only comes alive in an underground club for rebellious young ladies called Lady Knights. In it, she is free;to fence better than any boy, race horses in London at midnight, and read the latest literature deemed uncouth for her sex. Aside from her closest confidants, no one in her social circle is supposed to know about Zia’s other life… Once Mr. Rafi Nasser, a handsome rogue with secrets of his own, learns what she’s been up to, he is appalled…and intrigued. He had no inkling that his best friend’s little sister could be so charmingly defiant. And when someone tries to expose the Lady Knights, Zia soon finds that Rafi is the only one she can trust to help before her name is ruined.

Autorentext

Amalie Howard

Leseprobe
CHAPTER ONE

Strengthen the female mind by enlarging it, and there will be an end to blind obedience.

--Mary Wollstonecraft

London, 1819

The thrill of the hunt was unimaginable. Illicit. Dangerous.

Never mind that we’d be the ones chased like plump, juicy rabbits, by the Bow Street Runners no less, if we got caught. Hounslow Heath was known for its crime and the newssheets had written that the authorities were cracking down.

You won’t get caught. Focus on the prize.

Yes, the prize was the bounty my brother’s friends carried on their way home from what I hoped had been a lucrative evening at their gentlemen’s social club. And no, I would not have imagined in a million years that I would be on Great Bath Road with one of my best friends riding toward a carriage ferrying a group of gents at an hour when aristocratic young ladies should be tucked away in their bedchambers, safe and sound, like the precious darlings they were.

Thank the heavens my parents slept soundly and my lady’s maid, Gemma, turned a closed eye to my capers. Because instead of sleeping, here I was . . . out of breath, heart pounding, muscles screaming in panic, and yet, so gloriously alive that I’d take this frantic race through Hounslow Heath over another day living the perfectly ordered, lackluster life of Lady Zenobia Osborn--daughter to a duke and undisputed diamond of the season.

Pah! Being a diamond of the first water was categorically overrated.

Especially for the poor twit, being me, who had to shoulder that heavy responsibility like a cloak made of nettles. The pressure that it bore was simply too much. Every single gaze was on me this season to find the most impeccable match . . . to be worthy of carrying such an illustrious title and show that I was the true prize.

But I wasn’t some silly prize.

I was a person.

With a brain, feelings, and a will of her own.

On the surface, I exceeded the ton’s requirements. One, I was pleasant enough in looks, except for the dreadful dash of freckles my governess seemed to abhor. She cautioned me daily to stay out of the sun. Not that I ever took that advice; I fed those precious little dots as much sunshine as I could--they were mine and they made me me. Two, I was in possession of an enormous dowry. And three, my father was an extremely formidable duke.

Furthermore, my skill at the pianoforte was unmatched, my manners and breeding impeccable. My education was precisely adequate for a girl of my station--not that I let that stop me from listening in on my brother’s lessons any chance I got. Everything else I learned after Keston went off to Eton was thanks to a well-stocked library.

Education was within one’s grasp, if one cared to reach for it. Which I had always done without apology. Mathematics, philosophy, science, and other subjects like music, French, and needlepoint that were deemed acceptable for girls and taught by my governess, I devoured them all. I suspected that my parents knew that I was learned, and fortunately, they valued cleverness.

Despite my small personal rebellions, however, I was born and bred to be the perfect debutante . . . and eventually, the perfect bride to some faceless, well-heeled gentleman.

When the plain truth was I wanted more. I wanted everything. To write and compose my own songs someday, ones that weren’t aristocracy-approved. I wanted to play them on a grand public stage. The idea of a duke’s daughter being seen as a plebeian performer was scandalous in itself. While playing in the occasional music salon was appropriate since displaying one’s piano skills for the purpose of attracting a husband was highly encouraged, that kind of common performance would hardly be allowed.

It was a role far beneath my station.

But I loved music, and I wanted to share my compositions with the world.

Why couldn’t my parents have been happy with just one of their children being married off ? My brother, the Marquess of Ridley, had become engaged two years ago to a girl he’d been in love with his whole life and nearly lost because of his own shortsightedness. Lady Ela Dalvi was his hard-earned match, and the future Duke and Duchess of Harbridge were utterly besotted with each other.

Then again, Papa hadn’t been pleased about the turn of events when his firstborn and heir practically told him to mind his own business during his rocky courtship with Ela. Defying my father’s wishes would hardly go over as well for me. Girls were treated as if we were delicate china to be handled with velvet gloves and tender voices. We were only expected to sit quietly and nod and smile. To be the pinnacle of feminine perfection. Whatever that claptrap was.

This was clearly not my current circumstance, breaking all those rules!

No. Right now, I was living!

I narrowed my eyes as Lalita cut off the barouche, the three figures inside shouting in confusion as their vehicle pitched to a stop. Even though I was heavily shrouded in my hood, as was Lalita, a frisson of fear went through me. These targets knew who I was. Stealing from them wasn’t exactly the right thing to do, but they were rich and wouldn’t miss the money. I supposed we could have politely asked for a donation, but where was the fun in that?

“Stand and deliver, good sirs!” I shouted in a low voice while I pulled aside the coach, cocking the rifle I’d stolen from my father’s collection and loosening the vowels in my speech.

In the late-night gloom, I could see bewilderment dawning on their faces as they whirled to face the business end of my empty rifle. Not that they would know that the weapon was unloaded. Lalita hefted hers as well, though her face had taken on a green hue as if she was fighting not to cast up her accounts on the ground.

Keep it together, Lalita, just a few more minutes. . . .

One of the gentlemen I didn’t recognize, though something about him seemed familiar, and the second was Ansel Chen, Lady Rosalin’s cousin. The third made my heart flutter and then sink to my toes. Along with Ansel, Rafi Nasser was one of my brother’s best mates, and while Rafi was the ton’s resident libertine, he was hardly obtuse. In fact, his lackadaisical personality hid an incisive mind, or so I’d observed the past few years. One mistake and I could be discovered.

That would ruin everything.

My brother was not with them, which I counted as a small mercy. I would have been a little more worried about discovery with him there, especially since it wouldn’t be the first time we’d ambushed him…