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It was well known among the
ton
and
those who gossiped about them, that the Duke of Clairmont was not
the type of man to cross. Although deliciously handsome —at least
that's what the rumor said— he had a reputation that boasted his
arrogant nature and intolerance for women beyond their company in
his bedroom —or their bedroom, for that matter. Carlotta's cheeks
heated with a blush at simply thinking those words. True, he could
have his pick of any of the season's Incomparables, but he wasn't
marriage minded. At least not yet. His hair was as dark as sin with
eyes that were the color of a summer sky. His tall and powerful
frame exuded power and dominance, shrinking down all other men in
the room. Of course, one could not always believe the gossip.

Especially when it said he had kept no fewer
than a dozen mistresses at one time. Certainly,
that
was
exaggerated. Nevertheless, the stories about the handsome duke
abounded and grew to mammoth proportions. Which was why Carlotta
had to summon all her courage to walk up the steps to his home.

The one question that remained quite a
mystery was why the duke needed a governess at all. It was well
known he was a confirmed bachelor. Could he have a brood of
children born on the wrong side of the blanket? Carlotta highly
doubted it. After all, based on the gossip, he didn't seem like the
doting father type. No, with his reputation, he'd toss the poor
woman unfortunate enough to have gotten pregnant, into the streets.
Yes, his soul was a black as his hair. Of course, having never seen
the duke in person, Carlotta could only imagine how dark his hair
really was.

She walked to the door and knocked, willing
her racing heartbeat to slow its galloping pulse.

"Yes?" an aged butler inquired.

"Miss Carlotta Standhope. I'm here to
interview for the governess position. I'm here on Mr. Burrows'
recommendation," she spoke her practiced words.

"Yes. Wait a moment." The butler left her on
the doorstep but returned less than a minute later.

"Mrs. Pott will be conducting your interview
in the parlor. If you'll follow me."

Carlotta tried not to appear too curious as
she studied the bachelor lodgings of one of the most notorious
rakes of the
ton.
Dark woods covered the walls and rich rugs
softened the floors. It was pristine and clean yet dark and
brooding all at once. As she glanced about, she decided it had to
be from the lack of light. For it being daylight outside, it was
quite dark inside.

The butler opened a door that was already
slightly ajar and waited for Carlotta to enter. As she did, a plump
woman no younger than sixty years greeted her. She was cheery, her
cheeks rosy and her smile warm. Carlotta felt a bit more at
ease.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Standhope. You
come on excellent recommendation," the woman greeted warmly.

"Thank you."

"Where are my manners? Forgive me, darling.
I'm Mrs. Pott, his grace's housekeeper. You'll have to excuse me.
I'm not accustomed to interviewing governesses. Please, come and
sit. Let's have us a chat, shall we?" She gestured to a chair
opposite her and Carlotta sat.

"Murray? Would you please have tea brought
up?"

The butler nodded and disappeared.

"Now then, why don't we begin with you
telling a bit about yourself, Miss Standhope."

"I'm nineteen this year, Mrs. Pott, and well
versed in Latin, French as well as classic literature, mathematics
and some of the more popular sciences. I studied under my own tutor
until recent circumstances required me to seek my own employment."
Carlotta held her breath, hoping the words she'd rehearsed were
neither too rushed nor divulged too much information on her current
straits.

"I see. You're quite the educated woman it
seems." Mrs. Pott nodded.

"Thank you."

"Now then, have you experience in how to
conduct one-self in social situations? The duke has become the
guardian of three young women, all in need of guidance not only in
their formal education but in other social graces."

"Yes, I'm able to guide them in the various
social situations they'll likely encounter being associated with
his grace," Carlotta responded confidently.

"Lovely. His grace plans on moving the girls
to his country estate in Bath. Do you have any connections that
would prohibit your moving from London?"

"No." Yet her heart pinched. Bath was awfully
close to Garden Gate. What miserable torture to be so near one's
home yet so completely away at the same time!

"Delightful. Then, Miss Standhope, I'm
extending the offer of employment to you, should you wish to
accept. You seem very well suited for the position and with such a
glowing recommendation, I'd be daft to not welcome you to his
grace's staff."

"Thank you, Mrs. Pott. I humbly accept."
Carlotta barely resisted the urge to let out a huge sigh of relief.
That had certainly been much easier than she had anticipated.

"Now then, that's settled. We'll have us a
spot of tea and then I'll take you to meet your charges. They are
currently staying here, but will be traveling shortly. I'm assuming
you'll need to quit your current lodgings as well?"

"Yes, it shan't take long."

"No need to worry. I'll have Murray task
someone with fetching your belongings and ensuring your account is
settled."

"Oh, there's not need, I can—"

"Of course there's a need my dear. You'll
find that, being in the duke's employ that, while his reputation is
less than above reproach, he is generous and kind to those he
employs. I'm quite sure he'd be put out if I did any less for you,
my dear."

"Well, thank you." Carlotta tried to be
gracious but all she could think of was the sorry state of most of
her clothing due to the muddy descent from the carriage. Hopefully,
whoever collected her belongings wouldn't look
too
closely.

Betraying Ever After

A Shattered Fairy Tale

PROLOGUE

As with beauty, evil
is in the eye of the beholder. One man's revenge is another man's
just cause. One man's vendetta is another man's justice.

Who decides good and evil? Right and wrong?
Vendetta or justice?

God?

People?

Society?

And who decides the consequences? Who decides
which evil acts deserve punishment?

Who?

He
knew he had
just cause in his revenge.

He had waited patiently, waited after the
baron — with the help of his backstabbing friend — had taken her
away from him.

Anger filled him when he heard of their
nuptials.

Jealously consumed him when he learned of
their daughter. A daughter that should have been his. It mattered
not that he had a wife of his own now, and a child, a daughter as
well. It mattered not that he was one of the — no,
the
wealthiest man in Darenset — nay, the entirety of England.

It mattered not that his wife was the most
beautiful lady the
ton
had ever produced. His wife was not
her
, and that was all that mattered.

Sorrow filled him when he heard news of her
death. Childbirth — a second daughter.

Sorrow turned to vengeful thoughts.

Vengeful thoughts turned to actions.

A debt bought.

A debt collected.

A debt unable to be paid.

And a young daughter forced into servitude as
a result.

And what of the traitorous friend of the
baron? Would vengeance not greet him for the role he played in the
deceit? Of course, justice would prevail. Plans had already been
set in motion.

His family would be dealt with in time.

They all would be.

Time made no difference to him. His soul
never found rest. Five years. Ten years. Thirteen years since what
had been his was stolen from him. The wound still bled.

If the baron presumed the man's revenge was
final by taking his eldest as a servant to pay his debts, he was
such a naïve fool.

Fredrick Dodsworth had money, and that
trumped titles. He carried people's debts, and that covered a
multitude of sins. He collected sins. Used them to his advantage.
Made a lofty career out of it.

The two men who had betrayed him all those
years before had it coming.

Justice.

Not revenge.

He rested his elbow on the mantle, scratched
the beard on his chin, and watched the orange flames dance as they
consumed the piece of unfortunate firewood tossed inside. He
understood fire. The beauty of it. The pure grandeur of a small
spark that grew into a raging inferno if allowed. He'd allowed it
in his time. Some secrets would never be told. Some sins would
never be collected. One could control such things when one was the
collector.

And some sins would never receive
forgiveness.

Mr. Dodsworth clinched his nails into his
shaking palm until blood seeped from underneath.

They would all get what they deserved.

A small drop fell from his hand, sizzling in
the flames. He pulled out a cloth to wipe away the rest of the
scarlet droplets.

Soon he would see justice.

Upstairs, he heard giggling. Two young women.
One his own daughter — and the other a means to an end. They had no
idea their time together grew short. A small smile pulled at his
lips as he tossed the soiled cloth into the flames. He could buy
others. Money meant nothing to him. Justice was the only payment he
required.

The two men who'd taken what was his? He
would make them pay the worst way he could imagine. Laughter
bubbled in his chest as the cloth burned into unrecognizable
ash.

He would hurt their children.

And he would make them watch.

Once upon a time

Darenset, Lithorland

"You look
beautiful."

Emma Hartwell beamed as she fastened the last
button on the back of Gertrude Dodsworth's gown. It was exquisite.
Perfect for one of the many balls she would attend. A gorgeous
green shade, specially made for her by the designers at Trudy's
father's textile factory. One of the largest factories in Darenset,
and the Dodsworths were one of the richest families in the city if
not all of Lithorland — a small country near the coast.

Emma wasn't a Dodsworth, though by rights,
she was the only person in the room of noble blood. Money trumped
blood, especially in that time. Titles were important, but one
could have a title and still owe a huge debt. Emma peeked over
Trudy's shoulder and saw her own small reflection in the mirror. A
knot formed in her throat as she shut her eyes and willed the
unhappiness away. No matter what, debts had to be collected. She
knew that fact all too well.

"Do you love it?" Trudy twirled in the
mirror, oblivious to Emma's sudden sullen change in mood.

Needing a moment to compose herself, Emma
drew in a deep breath and exhaled to ease the constricting of her
chest, all the while hiding it from Trudy. Once Trudy stopped
spinning, her reflection showed exactly what Emma saw, a beautiful
eighteen-year-old girl in an exquisite dress on her way to her
coming out party. Soon after, the Season would start in Darenset,
and she'd be married in no time. Though not of royal blood, Trudy
had a very hefty dowry. Any man would want it. Not to mention,
Trudy was a vision.

Wavy red hair that would hold a curl if
forced.

Slender features.

Delicate.

Different.

Bright eyes that lightened when she had
something exciting to tell Emma and couldn't keep it a secret.
Lately, that had occurred more and more frequently.

"I do. Truly amazing. Hold still. I'll put
this in your hair." Emma wanted to envy Trudy. A coming out party.
A ball. A whole life in front of her. Then again, her own life
would begin in a few days as well. When she could go home to her
father and sister. A time she'd prayed for and looked forward to
every day since she had begun worked for Mr. Dodsworth.