Excerpt from
THE BLACK ANGEL by Barbara Samuel

Hyde Park, London
1781

PROLOGUE
Lady Adriana St. Ives rode well, the result of a childhood spent more savage than civilized. On this dark, wet morning, she rode astride, and rode hard, her hair uncombed and streaming down her back as she raced to beat the dawn threatening at the edge of the horizon. Wet leaves slapped at her face and arms, and her skirts were soaked. Later, she would pay with a fever.

"Please," she whispered to whatever celestial beings might still be listening to her.

She broke from the trees into a wide, grassy clearing. Relief washed cold down her spine, for they had not yet begun. Her brother Julian, tall as a cedar, his wheat-colored hair shining even in the gloom, stood sober and straight beside a phaeton. Their half-brother Gabriel, as handsome and swarthy as the pirates of their childhood games, stood next to him, the box of pistols in his hands.

Thank God.

She slowed, her breath coming in ragged gasps from her chest. Not even enough air left for a cry.

And then movement from the trees on the opposite side of the clearing caught the edge of her vision and Adriana jerked her head around to see Everett Malvern. The rake was visibly in his cups, weaving as he tossed off his woolen cloak and gestured for his pistol to be put in his hand. The fine satin waistcoat and breeches that had begun the night before in such splendor were now stained with the night's revels, and the elegant, almost pretty face framed with golden curls was decidedly less attractive by the morning light. His sleeves, trimmed with tumbles of Belgian lace, fell over his hands, and he laughed uproariously to his entourage, who only summoned the most polite of chuckles in response. They knew, even if Malvern did not, that he faced a most deadly -- and furious -- opponent.

Adriana narrowed her eyes. The fool. Only he was arrogant enough to think he'd go unwounded at Julian's hand. His second, a foppish dandy named Stead whom Adriana disliked heartily, plainly understood the danger. He tugged at Malvern's sleeve, his mouth moving with words Adriana could not hear. Malvern shook the hand away and swaggered out to face Julian, who stood cold and still in the midst of the clearing, his dark gold hair glittering with moisture.

Humiliation and anger and regret welled up in her, but there was no time to indulge it. "Wait!" she cried, dismounting, and ran forward.

The men glanced at her, but quickly turned back again, all intent upon this foolish duel. She tried to rush, tripped on her skirts and tumbled in the wet grass. The jolt slammed her teeth together, and jarred her entire head.

She scrambled to her feet, putting her hand in a muddy puddle, and stumbled forward.

Too late.

In horror, she halted, tasting blood on her tongue where she'd bitten it. Sweat and cold mist dampened her clothes, and her breath still came raggedly. Hands limp at her sides, she watched them take their paces.

Turn.
And fire.

Involuntarily, she slammed her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes closed. A man cried out in surprise. Her eyes flew open.

Blood bloomed in the shape of a peony over Malvern's chest. Adriana saw the stain leak into the embroidered satin of his waistcoat, spreading like doom, saw the surprise steal away his drunkenness. Abruptly unfrozen, she raced forward and grabbed Julian's arm. "God, Julian, you've killed him! You killed the Duke's bastard."

Julian dropped the pistol and the icy calm over his face shattered. He raised gray eyes to Adriana's face, and in them she glimpsed misery and resolve. "He'll trouble you no more."

She flung her arms around him, weeping. "I am so ashamed," she whispered against Julian's neck.

Gabriel touched her back, her hair, and she embraced him fiercely. "Take care of him," she whispered, then pulled away. "Now, go. Go!" Without a word, they turned as a man, and disappeared into the mist of the dark morning.