PROLOGUE
London, England, 1810
Flanner Auction House
"Do not go to the dock alone. It's dangerous."
Olivia's father's warning rang in her mind. He was right, of course. Violence ran rampant along this bustling stretch of the Thames River. More than one tale circulated of an unsuspecting soul disappearing from this dock, never to be heard from again. But the sun had not yet set.
Surely a closer look wouldn't hurt.
Fourteen-year-old Olivia Brannon exited the rear entrance of the Flanner Auction House onto the hectic landing and into a vibrant world that she knew all too well. Sailors and merchants milled about, no doubt eager to make use of the day's fading light, and the noisy white seabirds dipped low and wove among the masts of the tall ships. Curious scents of fish and cumin, of wood and tobacco, perfumed the dank, hazy air, and the revived excitement of things new and unexplored enveloped her.
She wanted to see everything. Know everything. And not just about the treasures brought in on the East Indiaman ships. She wanted to know the stories about the exotic lands from which they came and the people who made them.
She lifted to the tips of her toes and pressed her hand against her forehead to shade her eyes against the golden setting sun as it reflected off the choppy water. Through the throng of sailors, discarded nets, and coiled ropes, she spotted it.
A large wooden crate stamped with the words Live Animal.
"Olivia."
The tenor of the familiar masculine voice squelched her anticipation, and annoyance crept in. She glanced over her shoulder.
Lucas Avery, tall, gangly, and three years her senior, stood just behind her with a bulky leather satchel slung over his wiry shoulder. The riverside wind tousled his tawny hair, which appeared to have lightened by time spent in the sun, and his usually ruddy complexion was far tanner than she recalled.
"It'll be dark soon." He nodded toward the Thames. "It's not safe here after the sun sets."
His warning was valid, but she'd not give him the satisfaction of thinking he'd told her something she wasn't already aware of. "I know."
"What are you doing out here anyway?" He fell into step with her as she walked along the wooden planks.
"If you must know, a tiger came in on the Belletrue yesterday. It's bound for the Royal Menagerie at the Tower of London. I was hoping to see it," she stated, proud to share new information and determined to gain control of the conversation. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in the Orient."
"I was." He paused to allow two men carrying a large trunk to pass between them. "We returned only yesterday."
She bit her lower lip and looked out at the masts and rigging.
Oh, how she envied him.
Timothy Avery, Lucas's father, was a purveyor of antiquities, just like her father. Lucas traveled extensively with him in pursuit of rarities—to India, Egypt, Italy. Her father traveled as well, but she was never permitted to join him. Ever since her mother had contracted diphtheria and died on a sea voyage to Italy, her father deemed both his daughters too delicate to travel—a sentiment Olivia ardently challenged, but to no avail.
An arresting roar, unlike anything she'd ever heard before, reverberated near the bolts of stored sailcloth and brick buildings lining the docks. Shouts and shuffling erupted. She whirled to see two sailors securing a gray canvas tarp over the crate. Other sailors joined them to push the crate away from the landing's edge and toward the buildings.
Crestfallen, she felt her shoulders droop. "I'm too late."
"Perhaps the tiger will still be here tomorrow," Lucas offered.
He was trying to be kind, she knew. Still, his conciliatory comment irritated her. Lucas Avery had always been kind—it had been his most admirable trait when they were playmates as children. But now it hardly seemed warranted—or even appropriate. How could he talk to her so casually as if their fathers were not enemies? As if his father had not betrayed hers?
"Maybe." She turned back toward the auction house's dock entrance.
