Chapter One
London, England May 1815
Thomas Raybourne sank bleary-eyed into the chair behind his father’s desk at Artemis Press, well aware it would never feel like his own. Not because his father had left large footprints to fill, but rather his disapproval had cast a shadow over Thomas his entire life. Why had he expected the earl’s death some two months past to change anything?
He blew out a sigh, his head still pounding from the libations in which he’d indulged the previous evening. He should be accustomed to the effects of a late night—or should he say early morning—spent drinking too much brandy and gambling on a game of vingt-et-un or a hand of whist. But that didn’t mean he enjoyed the aftermath with the exception of the extra notes he’d won. Those were certainly welcome.
His father, the Earl of Carlington, had founded Artemis Press over a decade ago, one of his many philanthropic pursuits. Thomas had been tasked by his eldest brother, Graham, the new earl, to make a profitable endeavor out of the company.
“No.” Thomas had flatly refused the order when Graham had approached him soon after the funeral.
“I don’t think you understand,” Graham insisted. “The well is dry. The coffers are empty. There’s no money left, certainly none to support your roguish ways.”
His brother’s cold, flat tone sent a chill down Thomas’s spine. The lack of emotion from the man who normally rallied and supported both Hugh, the second son, and Thomas, the youngest at age seven and twenty, conveyed the seriousness of the situation.
“I know nothing about publishing books,” Thomas argued. “Surely Hugh would be better suited for the position than me.” There was another reason Thomas shouldn’t be given the responsibility, but he had no intention of sharing that with Graham now—if ever.
“He has other obligations.”
He knew Graham hadn’t meant the statement that way, but the unspoken reminder that Thomas was worthless, as his father had so often said, cut him to the quick. Unlike Hugh, who was the spare heir and had been taught some skills in the event he was needed, third sons like Thomas served no purpose. Especially third sons who didn’t truly belong and never quite managed to do the right thing.
Thomas had done his damnedest to prove his worth to his father throughout his childhood, but none of his efforts had gone as planned. There’d been the time at age nine when he’d thought to swim across the pond at their country estate to demonstrate his physical strength, only to nearly drown, requiring rescue. There was also the time when he was twelve years and determined to ride his father’s prize stallion to show his horsemanship, only to lose control and allow the horse to gallop through a field where it stepped into a hole and broke its leg, requiring it to be put down.
Even his mother hadn’t defended him after that incident, though Thomas didn’t blame her. In truth, he hadn’t yet forgiven himself for the death of the horse. To this day, he avoided horseback riding when possible.
Hugh and Graham had each done their best to protect him, taking turns gaining their father’s attention—and his wrath, which was normally focused on Thomas.
After his mother’s death of apoplexy during the latter part of his university days, Thomas had given up trying to prove his value and instead embraced the failure. He became a rogue, complete with drinking, gambling, and women until his father looked at him with disgust each time they met. Though Thomas told himself he took pride in his behavior, he knew the truth—the lack of his father’s approval never lost its sting.
It seemed Graham, who was nearly perfect in all respects, was intent on making Thomas show everyone once again that he was a failure by placing him in charge of the publishing company.
Just that morning, Graham had called on him at home to discover how the situation at the publishing house was progressing. Never mind that his visit had roused Thomas from his bed, much the worse for drink and lack of sleep.
“We need you to make a success of this, Thomas. This is your chance to do something meaningful with your life.”
Didn’t his brother realize that only made him want to do the opposite?
“Artemis Press could become the premier publishing house for fine literary works.” Graham had paced the dining room during this passionate speech while Thomas sipped his steaming coffee—black, like his soul—hoping it would dull the hammering in his head. “It would then become