Lord Louis Tomlinson of Dirthfall was a man revered for his unfailing kindness and mercy, possessing all the qualities that defined a true gentleman. Though bereft of his wife for many years, he had not allowed grief to mar his noble character. At the age of forty-two, he remained as dignified and comely as ever, his presence commanding respect and admiration.

Among his acquaintances was Lord Ashcombe of Blackvale, a man as opposite to Lord Tomlinson in demeanor as his lands were to Dirthfall. Where Louis had peace and prosperity, Lord Ashcombe had enemies and unrest, and his estate teetered on the brink of ruin. Now lying upon his deathbed, Ashcombe summoned Louis with a most desperate plea.

“My Lord Tomlinson,” he rasped, his voice trembling with the weight of his entreaty, “they will destroy her honour along with my lands. My daughter’s innocence is all I have left to safeguard. I beg of you—marry her and protect her from the wolves who will descend upon her once I am gone.”

Louis hesitated, his noble heart warring with his sense of propriety. The girl was but a delicate bloom of youth, while he was a man of advanced years and solemn experience. Yet he could not refuse the dying wish of his old companion. Bowing his head, he murmured, “I shall do as you ask.”

The wedding passed swiftly, marked more by duty than joy, and that night Louis returned to his chambers. There, he found his young bride seated timidly upon the edge of the bed, her figure trembling as she stared down at her folded hands. The sight of her fragility wrenched at his heart, for he perceived the fear she bore—that she would be subjected to the baser expectations of marriage.

Discarding his cloak, Louis moved to the decanter and poured himself a modest measure of brandy. Turning back, he regarded her with a gentleness born of his noble nature.

“My Lady,” Louis began, his voice low and measured, “you have nothing to fear. I give you my word—I shall not harm you, nor shall I impose upon you that which you do not freely give.”