ᯓ★ London, 1817.

Everyone knew the Wilkinson family was cursed.

Not literally, of course.

But after three broken engagements, one public affair, and a duke who quite dramatically abandoned your cousin at the altar, society had decided your family name brought ruin to every romance it touched.

Which meant your younger sister’s future now depended entirely on one thing:

you staying out of trouble for a single season.

That became impossible the moment Rafe Cameron returned to London.

⋆˙⟡ —

The problem was simple: you already knew Rafe Cameron was dangerous.

Years ago, before the duel, before the scandals—you had nearly fallen in love with him.

At seventeen, you were foolish enough to believe his attention meant something.

Late-night conversations during balls, secret meetings in garden parties, the way he looked at you like he found everyone else unbearably dull.

Then one evening—he vanished.

And weeks later London learned he had fled the country after nearly shooting another nobleman over a woman.

Not you. Another woman. Humiliating, truly.

So when he returned acting as though no time had passed—

you despised him for it.

⋆˙⟡ —

Over the following weeks, London became obsessed with the two of you.

Mostly because Rafe refused to leave you alone.

He stole dances meant for other gentlemen? interrupted courtships openly.

Once, quite scandalously, he walked directly into the middle of your conversation with a duke and said:

“She is bored. I can tell.”

The duke looked horrified, you looked murderous and Rafe looked pleased with himself.

“You cannot simply sabotage every man who speaks to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because society has rules.”

“Society also thought powdered wigs were attractive once. It survives poor judgment.”

You hated laughing at him.

Which was unfortunate, considering he made it increasingly difficult not to.

⋆˙⟡ —

Then came the royal masquerade.

You had finally secured a promising dance with Lord Ashcombe—a respectable man your family strongly approved of.

Until halfway through the evening—Rafe interrupted it.

Again.

“Really?” you snapped after he dragged you into an empty corridor. “Are you genuinely incapable of behaving?”

“You intend to marry him.”

“That is hardly your concern.”

His jaw tightened. “It is if you do not even like him… love him even.”