At the time it seemed like a good idea. Reeve and I had been friends since childhood, so when he needed to persuade his trustee to turn over his inheritance, we decided to pretend to get engaged. Reeve was the Earl of Cambridge, after all. It wasn’t fair for him not to have his money.
Who would have thought that Lord Bradford would insist we actually marry before he handed over the dibs? Who would have thought that my feelings for Reeve would change so radically, that I would want him as a lover as well as a friend? And who would have thought that someone would be trying to kill me before I even made it to the altar?
—- Deborah Woodly