PROLOGUE

Dover, 1812

Winter storm clouds tumbled across the midnight sky, masking the moon and stars from view. Only the distant sound of thrashing waves guided the cloaked figure toward the sea, where an anchored ship sat veiled in the snowy mist, awaiting its precious cargo.

She was so close to the ship, her sanctuary, but she was on foot, her horse maimed and killed in the hunt, and with the hail of galloping hooves fast encroaching, it would not be long before her enemies descended upon her and she met the same fate as her steed.

She gripped the small ornament between her palm: a gold locket. So seemingly insignificant, yet the secret sealed between the two oval faces wielded enough power to knock a nation to its knees.

Frantic, she vowed if she could not get the locket out of the country, then at least she’d deny her foes the comfort afforded by its possession.

Her fingers unfurled. The locket and chain sailed through the wind and landed in a mound of snow. Minutes later, the blast of a pistol brought the chase to a bloody end.

But the locket remained buried under the icy flakes. It was not until early spring, when crocuses and snowdrops poked through the thawing soil, that the glimmering gold necklace attracted the attention of a passing Gypsy girl, who, after wiping the winter sludge away, fastened the locket around her neck.