“People will still talk,” Julian said, but his voice had lost some of its certainty.
“Let them talk. Your reputation cannot get much worse than it already is. But I won’t allow you to make my sister a laughingstock, to force her into a marriage where she’d be expected to raise your mistress’s child while society whispers and points.”
Julian’s face darkened. “You’re being presumptuous, Miss Sinclair. I could simply take Victoria by force and?—”
“And I would file a case with the magistrate,” Joan interrupted. “Yes, you could control the outcome. Your family’s influence would ensure that. But the scandal would be enormous. Every detail would be aired publicly, the mistress, the baby, the theft of documents, your pursuit of a woman who fled from you. Both our families would be utterly ruined.”
She held his gaze steadily. “But if you marry me, you can do whatever you wish with anyone. I won’t interfere in your personal affairs. And in return, I will sanitize your image. I’m connected to several charitable organizations in London, orphanages, hospitals, schools for the poor. As your wife, I can make you look like a reformed man. A philanthropist. A gentleman who made one mistake but is now dedicated to good works.”
Julian studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then his gaze shifted to Victoria, who stood frozen in the carriage doorway, and back to Joan.
“You’re pretty enough, I suppose,” he said slowly. “Just as beautiful as your sister. And you’re clearly more intelligent.” Hismouth curved into a cold smile. “Yes, this could work. This could actually work quite well.”
He took a step closer, and Joan forced herself not to retreat.
“Very well, Miss Sinclair. I accept your offer.” He held out his hand. “We have an agreement.”
Joan looked at his extended hand and felt bile rise in her throat. But she reached out and placed her hand in his, feeling his fingers close around hers like a trap snapping shut.
“Go back to London,” she said quietly. “Prepare for the wedding. I’ll come in a few days’ time.”
Julian’s smile widened into something triumphant and cruel. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles that made her skin crawl.
“You are a smart one, Miss,” he said. He paused, then added with obvious satisfaction, “Or should I say—wife.”
Julian released Joan’s hand and turned toward his own carriage, his men falling into step behind him. But he paused before climbing inside, glancing back over his shoulder with that same cold, satisfied smile.
“You know,” he said conversationally, “I don’t mind the idea of marrying both sisters. Something to consider for the future, perhaps.”
His laugh echoed through the predawn air as he climbed into his carriage. The door slammed shut, and within moments, the vehicle was rolling away, taking Julian and his hired thugs back toward the road.
The moment they disappeared from view, Joan felt her knees begin to buckle.
Damian caught her instantly, his arms wrapping around her shoulders to hold her upright. “Joan! What have you done? What have you?—”
“Not now.” Joan’s voice came out surprisingly steady despite the way her entire body had begun to tremble. She pulled away from her brother’s grip and straightened her spine, forcing strength into her limbs through sheer willpower.
“Joan, you cannot possibly?—”
“I said not now, Damian.” She turned toward the carriage where Victoria still stood frozen in the doorway, tears streaming silently down her face. Peters sat motionless on the driver’s box, his weathered face pale with shock.
Joan climbed back into the carriage. She settled onto the seat and looked at her siblings with an expression of calm determination that she did not feel.
“Let’s get some more sleep,” she said firmly. “We will discuss this in the afternoon.”
Victoria opened her mouth to protest or plead, Joan couldn’t tell, but Joan’s expression must have conveyed something that made her sister think better of it. Victoria nodded and climbed back inside, her movements mechanical.
Damian stood outside for a long moment, his face a mask of anguish and fury and helplessness. Then he too climbed in, closing the door behind him with careful precision.
“Peters,” Joan called out, her voice carrying clearly through the small window. “Take us home, please.”
“Yes, Miss Sinclair,” Peters replied quietly, and the carriage lurched into motion.
The ride back to the manor was silent save for the creak of wheels and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves. Victoria sat pressed against Joan’s side, shaking with silent sobs. Damian stared out the window, his jaw clenched so tightly that Joan could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
And Joan sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap, her face composed and serene.
Inside, where no one could see, she was screaming.
