Lady Knight

By Amalie Howard

Coming 04.01.25

The daughter of a duke defies the rules of London high society with the help of the resident rake—who just so happens to be her brother’s best friend—in this fun teen historical romance from the USA Today bestselling author of Queen Bee.

“A ridiculously romantic, womanist, hilarious, and hugely entertaining romance that had me smiling and swooning from start to finish.” —Elizabeth Everett, USA Today bestselling author of the Damsels of Discovery series

Lady Zenobia “Zia” Osborn, a duke’s daughter, is frustrated that her entire life has been predetermined. What good is skill or intelligence if one is forced to suffocate it because of one’s sex? She’d much rather make her mark on the world than bat her eyelashes for the ton.

Zia only comes alive in the Lady Knights, a clandestine social club for rebellious girls. In it, she is free to compose music, fence, read controversial literature, and save orphans from destitution by any means necessary. Aside from her closest confidantes, no one knows about Zia’s indecorous other life. . . .

Until Mr. Rafi Nasser, a rogue with secrets of his own, finds out. Shocked yet intrigued by his best friend’s younger sister, he agrees to keep Zia’s secret—if only to help her avoid utter scandal.

CHAPTER ONE

Strengthen the female mind by enlarging it, and there will be an end to blind obedience.

--Mary Wollstonecraft

London, 1819

The thrill of the hunt was unimaginable. Illicit. Dangerous.

Never mind that we’d be the ones chased like plump, juicy rabbits, by the Bow Street Runners no less, if we got caught. Hounslow Heath was known for its crime and the newssheets had written that the authorities were cracking down.

You won’t get caught. Focus on the prize.

Yes, the prize was the bounty my brother’s friends carried on their way home from what I hoped had been a lucrative evening at their gentlemen’s social club. And no, I would not have imagined in a million years that I would be on Great Bath Road with one of my best friends riding toward a carriage ferrying a group of gents at an hour when aristocratic young ladies should be tucked away in their bedchambers, safe and sound, like the precious darlings they were.

Thank the heavens my parents slept soundly and my lady’s maid, Gemma, turned a closed eye to my capers. Because instead of sleeping, here I was . . . out of breath, heart pounding, muscles screaming in panic, and yet, so gloriously alive that I’d take this frantic race through Hounslow Heath over another day living the perfectly ordered, lackluster life of Lady Zenobia Osborn--daughter to a duke and undisputed diamond of the season.

Pah! Being a diamond of the first water was categorically overrated.

Especially for the poor twit, being me, who had to shoulder that heavy responsibility like a cloak made of nettles. The pressure that it bore was simply too much. Every single gaze was on me this season to find the most impeccable match . . . to be worthy of carrying such an illustrious title and show that I was the true prize.

But I wasn’t some silly prize.

I was a person.

With a brain, feelings, and a will of her own.

On the surface, I exceeded the ton’s requirements. One, I was pleasant enough in looks, except for the dreadful dash of freckles my governess seemed to abhor. She cautioned me daily to stay out of the sun. Not that I ever took that advice; I fed those precious little dots as much sunshine as I could--they were mine and they made me me. Two, I was in possession of an enormous dowry. And three, my father was an extremely formidable duke.

Furthermore, my skill at the pianoforte was unmatched, my manners and breeding impeccable. My education was precisely adequate for a girl of my station--not that I let that stop me from listening in on my brother’s lessons any chance I got. Everything else I learned after Keston went off to Eton was thanks to a well-stocked library.

Education was within one’s grasp, if one cared to reach for it. Which I had always done without apology. Mathematics, philosophy, science, and other subjects like music, French, and needlepoint that were deemed acceptable for girls and taught by my governess, I devoured them all. I suspected that my parents knew that I was learned, and fortunately, they valued cleverness.

Despite my small personal rebellions, however, I was born and bred to be the perfect debutante . . . and eventually, the perfect bride to some faceless, well-heeled gentleman.

When the plain truth was I wanted more. I wanted everything. To write and compose my own songs someday, ones that weren’t aristocracy-approved. I wanted to play them on a grand public stage. The idea of a duke’s daughter being seen as a plebeian performer was scandalous in itself. While playing in the occasional music salon was appropriate since displaying one’s piano skills for the purpose of attracting a husband was highly encouraged, that kind of common performance would hardly be allowed.

It was a role far beneath my station.

But I loved music, and I wanted to share my compositions with the world.

Why couldn’t my parents have been happy with just one of their children being married off ? My brother, the Marquess of Ridley, had become engaged two years ago to a girl he’d been in love with his whole life and nearly lost because of his own shortsightedness. Lady Ela Dalvi was his hard-earned match, and the future Duke and Duchess of Harbridge were utterly besotted with each other.

Then again, Papa hadn’t been pleased about the turn of events when his firstborn and heir practically told him to mind his own business during his rocky courtship with Ela. Defying my father’s wishes would hardly go over as well for me. Girls were treated as if we were delicate china to be handled with velvet gloves and tender voices. We were only expected to sit quietly and nod and smile. To be the pinnacle of feminine perfection. Whatever that claptrap was.

This was clearly not my current circumstance, breaking all those rules!

No. Right now, I was living!

I narrowed my eyes as Lalita cut off the barouche, the three figures inside shouting in confusion as their vehicle pitched to a stop. Even though I was heavily shrouded in my hood, as was Lalita, a frisson of fear went through me. These targets knew who I was. Stealing from them wasn’t exactly the right thing to do, but they were rich and wouldn’t miss the money. I supposed we could have politely asked for a donation, but where was the fun in that?

“Stand and deliver, good sirs!” I shouted in a low voice while I pulled aside the coach, cocking the rifle I’d stolen from my father’s collection and loosening the vowels in my speech.

In the late-night gloom, I could see bewilderment dawning on their faces as they whirled to face the business end of my empty rifle. Not that they would know that the weapon was unloaded. Lalita hefted hers as well, though her face had taken on a green hue as if she was fighting not to cast up her accounts on the ground.

Keep it together, Lalita, just a few more minutes. . . .

One of the gentlemen I didn’t recognize, though something about him seemed familiar, and the second was Ansel Chen, Lady Rosalin’s cousin. The third made my heart flutter and then sink to my toes. Along with Ansel, Rafi Nasser was one of my brother’s best mates, and while Rafi was the ton’s resident libertine, he was hardly obtuse. In fact, his lackadaisical personality hid an incisive mind, or so I’d observed the past few years. One mistake and I could be discovered.

That would ruin everything.

My brother was not with them, which I counted as a small mercy. I would have been a little more worried about discovery with him there, especially since it wouldn’t be the first time we’d ambushed him--but my disguise was solid, thanks in part to his own fiancée, Ela, who was a master of subterfuge. Gulping past the thickening knot in my throat, I squared my shoulders and edged the horse closer.

“What is the meaning of this?” the one closest to me demanded.

“Calm down, Rin,” Ansel said through his teeth. I knew the other boy looked familiar--he was the elder brother of my other best friend Nori. That made me feel better about robbing someone I didn’t know. And if he was with Rafi and Keston’s set, he had money to burn, and Nori would definitely approve.

“Bugger off, Ansel,” he slurred. “Don’t tell me what to do. What is this?”

“It’s a robbery, dimwit,” Lalita called out, and I nearly laughed out loud at his half-foxed expression. With any luck, they would be too deep in their cups to remember most of this. The coachman blanched and reached for his pockets. “Not you,” she told him. “Just the spoiled toffs inside the carriage who can afford to lighten their purses.”

Grinning at the coachman’s bemused expression, I cleared my throat and threw a sack to the middle of the open conveyance, putting a little mischief in my tone. “Hands where I can see them, kind sirs. Fill the pouch, if you will. You’re all much too comely to be shot tonight.”

Ansel and Rin complied, though grousing all the while. Most would not put up a fight at gunpoint. My eyes widened at the bank notes, coins, rings, and pocket watches going into the bag. This would be an excellent haul.

When they were done, I let my gaze drift to Rafi, who sat sprawled lazily against the left squabs, his long arms spread wide on either side of him. One would think he was spending an indolent evening in his favorite armchair and not being robbed by armed highwaymen. Er, highway-women. I tried not to let myself be too affected by his presence, but Rafi was a person who commanded attention. It didn’t help that he’d grown more handsome in the last year, not that I cared, of course. It was a simple observation.

Rafi Nasser always left a trail of broken hearts in his wake . . . every girl in London wanting to be the girl who reformed a notorious scoundrel. Even my own brother had warned me of him, and I supposed it helped that Rafi didn’t see me as anything other than his best friend’s little sister. Two years ago, during Keston and Ela’s courtship, he’d nipped my nascent infatuation in the bud when I’d foolishly let my feelings be known.

I am not interested in courting bratty girls. A cool, disinterested gaze had parsed my excessively frilled figure. Especially Ridley’s little sister. Go back to your schoolroom, Zia.

I’d tucked my poor, wounded sixteen-year-old heart away and avoided him since.

That open sore of rejection didn’t stop him from being unnecessarily attractive, however. Dark stubble crept over a sharp jawline, a bold nose and hooded brows making his features seem more angular in the low moonlight. Thickly lashed eyes--silvery gray in the dappled darkness--shone with something that unsettled me. I resisted the urge to check to see if my cowl was intact, shielding my features from view.

“Come now, don’t be shy,” I told him audaciously, fighting for poise. “Your pockets seem heavy tonight.”

His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head to one side. “Who are you?”

That deep baritone of his descended over me like crushed velvet. “My identity is not important, only your valuables. But if you insist, Lady Knight, it is.”

Lalita’s gasp alerted me to the fact that naming any names that might lead back to us was not part of the plan. Too late now. Rafi didn’t move from his relaxed pose, a slow smirk kicking up one corner of his mouth. “How quaint . . . lady of the night, I presume?” he drawled, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

I knew I shouldn’t engage, but the need to put him in his place was strong. “Knight with a K, as in warrior-at-arms, actually. And might I remind you that this is loaded, my lord,” I said, knowing full well he wasn’t titled as I hefted my rifle. “Make haste. Time and tide will wait for no man.”

Something flashed across his face. He sat forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and I resisted the urge to rear back. “What’s an educated young woman doing on these roads at night? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

Nerves alight, I tapped the rifle on the edge of the coach. “I am the danger, good sir. Now, unless you intend to test my rather excellent feminine aim, I’d advise you to stitch together those pretty lips and divest yourself of your baubles. Patience is not one of my many virtues.”

The corner of that devious mouth kicked up, along with my traitorous temperature. “Pretty lips?”

“A euphemism, no more. Now stop stalling.”

With that wicked smirk still firmly in place, he reached for the pouch and emptied his pockets. It must have been a lucky night at the card tables. Good for him, and even better for us. When he stretched an arm toward me, my eyes stuck on the large signet ring on his finger. It was his family ring, I knew. But any thieving highwayman worth his salt would never leave such a bounty behind.

“That’s a lovely ring.”

His eyes darkened. “It’s a family heirloom.”

“One that will fetch a nice sum.”

A chuckle left his lips. “It’s much too recognizable to sell, Lady Knight.”

“Then perhaps I shall keep it as a memento of our meeting.”

Prowling forward, I reached out to grip his fingers with my gloved left hand and grinned as I slipped it off and stowed it into the pocket of my cloak. He lurched forward to latch on to my wrist, making my pulse gallop, but a swift movement of my heel into my mount’s flank broke the brief contact. “You won’t get away with this,” he said in a low snarl that made my already hammering pulse double.

“Already have. Do have a grand evening, your lordship,” I purred, and then on impulse blew him a kiss. His nostrils flared, something flashing in those narrowed gray eyes, and for a heart-stopping moment, I wondered if it was recognition. Blowing a kiss was something the Zia he knew would never do, so it couldn’t have been that. I frowned when Rafi rose off the seat as if breathing in, and I urged my horse a few more hurried steps back.

Was the rotter sniffing me?

I hadn’t worn any scent other than daily bathwater, but still . . .

His brows drew down as I moved the stallion farther away and nodded to Lalita, who had remained in position in front of the coach. Together we drifted off the road and into the shadows. Still, I felt the press of that heated silver gaze for a full minute afterward.

“That was intense,” Lalita hissed.

Before I could answer, the sound of thundering hooves over the next hill interrupted me.

“Halt! Stop in the name of the law!” someone shouted.

My heart shot into my throat. That voice definitely wasn’t from Rafi or the two other boys. That was a cracking order of authority . . . as in the police. Damn and blast, of all our bloody luck! The command had sounded far enough away, but I could not be sure, so I upped my pace and urged Lalita to do the same.

“Bloody hell, who’s that?” she yelled.

“Runners or local constables!” I snorted a hysterical burst of laughter through my nose. If I was captured by the Runners, I’d be the pinnacle of ruination. My father would be absolutely livid, and I’d probably be banished to a convent. Half-petrified, I laughed again.

“None of this is funny, Zia. If they catch us, they’re going to lock us in jail.”

“They won’t snatch anyone, Lalita,” I yelled back. “Come on, ride faster! We’re nearly to the others. And besides, we’re the Lady Knights of truth, knowledge, and justice. Nothing bad can happen to us, remember?”