And then Colborn was laughing. Her gaze shot to his, and he wasnotnodding in agreement. He was shaking his head.
“No, no, no. You cannot take a lover, Felicity. It’ll look poorly on me to be cuckolded.”
“I would be discreet, my lord.” She frowned at him, barely preventing the eye roll desperate to escape. “A skill you seem utterly unfamiliar with.”
The amusement left his face in a slow wave, and he clenched his jaw. A petulant child minutes from a tantrum. “The answer is still no, Felicity. I saw you across the ballroom all those years ago, and I knew I had to have you. You are to be mine, and mine alone. I will not have my wife sullied by another man.” His face softened slightly, a sly smile curving his stupidly full lips. “You have nothing to worry about. I will give you all the attention you need. Trust me,” he purred.
She ground her teeth. The man was impossible. He was a child, and she was his treat he refused to let go of from sticky, chubby fingers. She hadn’t liked hisattentionthree years ago and didn’t require any more of it. She didn’t care how pretty he was. She didn’t care he was going to be a duke. She didn’t care that he was drowning in money.
She strangled the fabric of her skirts in her fingers. He wouldn’t give her, nor allow her, the things most important to her: love, affection, safety, security. Yes, she would have safety and security based on title and wealth, but her heart in Colborn’s hands? Her children’s livesin Colborn’s hands? Would one give a fragile marble bust to a two-year-old?
“I do not want to hear talk of this ever again, Felicity. Are we understood?”
Oh, unquestionably.
Irrefutably.
In-fucking-dubitably.
“Yes, Colby,” she said, her honey sweet voice at odds with the contempt coursing through her veins. “I see very clearly what our marriage will look like now.”
There was nothing to see—because it was decidedly not happening.
2
Felicity
Devonford Castle, Sussex, England.
A week and a half later.
THE WIND WHIPPED around Felicity, slapping against her face and sending her cloak lashing around her legs. She wrapped it tighter around herself, trying to seek any sort of warmth in the soaked wool.
She looked up into the pelting rain, a stone fortress looming in front of her from the inner bailey of Devonford Castle. She blinked against the storm’s onslaught, but it wasn’t just the deluge, nor the darkness of the night that made it difficult to take in. It was the sheer enormity of it.
Towers and walls of hauntingly grey stone stretched endlessly in both directions, surrounding her, closing in on her. Towering over her. The wind wailed, a foreboding scream whistling off slick stone.
Thunder crashed overhead, and she flinched. She could have sworn she felt the resounding boom all the way through her person. Or perhaps that was just her heart crashing against her chest. Because the reality ofThe Plan,of what she was about to do, was settling over her, and it was about as terrifying as riding in a carriage on an open road while lightning flashed disarmingly close.
Which is what she had just endured—for hours. It had been an extreme risk, traveling here, and in this weather. She could easily have been set upon by highwaymen. But fortunately, only someone utterly leather-headed traveled in such weather. In other words, not highwaymen, just reckless young women.
Determined,reckless young women.
She stared at the shadowed entry, recessed into the castle’s exterior. To protect from inclement weather, no doubt. Inclement weather she was still standing in. But she was having trouble convincing her feet to move in that direction.
It looked more like a mouth—a mouth of a beast—and she feared if she walked up the few steps into the dark alcove, she would be swallowed up. So instead, she stood here like a drowned rat while cold, wet rain soaked her to the bone. A tremor wracked through her frame.
“Re-m-mind yourself of your p-purpose, Fliss,” she said, teeth chattering.
She squared her shoulders.
Strength.
She lifted her chin.
Tenacity.
She glared at the entry.
