PROLOGUE Paris, November, 1816 Standing in the drawing room of Lady Felicity Drummond’s Paris apartments, Chandler Rhys felt a wave of dizziness swirl through his aching head, the result of having been dragged around the city by one of the more affluent diplomats attached to the British Consulate. Celebrating the end of his two-week lecture series at the Sorbonne, Rhys, Lord Ardsley and others he couldn’t even remember had downed champagne, twenty-year old scotch and vintage brandy. But not necessarily in that order. And how many bottles? He’d lost count after an even dozen. Now he was seeing two of everything and felt incredibly hot. He twitched at his cravat and hoped he could escape to his hotel before Felicity spotted him. It was bad enough that her very presence – there was so much of that delectable ‘presence’ -- rattled him badly. After three months of slogging across the mountains of Norway in search of rare alpine plants for th...