Chapter 1
“What in God’s name are you wearing?”
Phoebe looked up as she reached the bottom step of the staircase. Her husband, Graham Colborne, the Viscount Ridlington, was standing in the middle of the entrance hall and staring at her with perfect shock set in his features.
Phoebe tried to stop the trembling of her hands that she always felt around him. She stepped away from the staircase and made to walk past her husband toward the front door.
“It is called a dress,” she said very quietly, half hoping he wouldn’t hear her. She had learned before not to talk back to him; it never ended well, yet the temptation was there all the same. Her heels clicked on the black and white tiled floor as she walked past him, echoing back at her off the mahogany wooden paneled walls.
In truth, she hated the house. Everything about it was dark, painted black or deep brown, a little like how she imagined the insides of her husband’s heart to look.
“What did you say?” Graham snatched her wrist as she walked past, stopping her from going any further.
“Ow,” she said quietly, trying not to make too loud a pained sound. If she did, he would only hurt her more. He used the pincer-like grip on her hand to tow her back toward him until she collided against his chest.
“What did you say?” he said again, clearly expecting an answer. His long auburn hair was tied up into a slick ponytail at the back of his head, and his almost black eyes were pinned on her, the anger in them plain without him having to raise his voice.
“It is just a dress,” she said, lifting her chin toward him. “What is wrong with it?”
“You dare to ask that?” he asked. The grip on her wrist became even more painful as he dragged her across the entrance hall.
She breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to no longer be so close to him, even if that relief was momentary. As he dragged her across the hall, she caught sight of the butler and the footman standing by the front door, purposely with their backs turned toward her.
Why do you always pretend it is not happening?She thought angrily. It was always the same. The Viscount’s staff pretended they did not know about his cruelty. The only person who acknowledged it in that house was her maid and closest friend.
“Look. Look at yourself!” Graham ordered. He spun her round forcefully, changing his hold so that his pincer-like grip was on her upper arms as he forced her to look in the mirror. “What do you see there? Do you see the Viscountess Ridlington? Or do you see a bawd?”
“A bawd!?” she repeated in horror, looking down at the gown. She already knew there was nothing wrong with the dress, nothing at all. It was a fine pale blue gown that was gathered high on her waist with a deep neckline and short fashionable sleeves. The entire outfit was fashionable for the time, and hardly revealing. Above the dress, she could see her panicked face staring back at herself. Her light brown hair was beginning to fall out of its updo, her bold lips were trembling, and her green eyes were watery. “There is nothing wrong with it.”
“You are arguing with me?” he asked, leaning his head down toward her and connecting their gazes in the mirror. She shuddered at his touch. “Anyone would think you are trying to take a lover. Look how deep the neckline is.” He went to grab the neckline of the dress.
She tried her best to wriggle out of his arms, fighting against him.How has it escalated to this?
In her panic, she managed to stop him from adjusting the neckline and grabbing her gown, but instead he took hold of her upper arms, forcing her back against him and looking at herself in the mirror another time. She breathed heavily, trying to keep a lid on her fear.
“You want a lover, don’t you? That’s why you would dress this way. You wouldhumiliateme so,” he leered in her ear, his lips so close to her skin that she veered away, trying her best not to be touched by him.
She had already shared his bed too many times for her liking. Whenever she was touched by him, even simple touches, made her run from him, repulsed.
“I will not have my wife be so disloyal,” he said, standing straight.
“I am not being disloyal,” she pleaded for him to understand, finding her voice. “It is just a dress. It is of the fashion, I thought you would like that. I didn’t choose it to embarrass you in anyway –”
“And you think I’d believe that?” he asked, cutting her off.
“I’ll change,” she said quickly. “I will go and change now. Please…just release me.” She knew she was begging. His fingers were clenched so deeply on her upper arms that he would undoubtedly leave bruises. She had no choice but to opt for a dress at the very least had long sleeves, to hide the marks.
“You’ll change into something demure,” he ordered her. “Something that does not belong on a bawd in a brothel. Understood?”
She saw no point in arguing with him further, so she just nodded. Arguing with him would only incur more of his anger, and maybe even more bruises.
“I-I’ll go change now,” she stammered, tired of having to suffer her own fear. He released her, allowing her to stumble away. In her effort to be far from him, she tripped on the hem of her dress. She fell to the floor, hands planted on the diamond-shaped black tiles.
“Pathetic,” he murmured behind her. She tried to move to her knees and stand again when she abruptly felt a hand on the back of her dress.
“Graham, no!” she pleaded. He was using the dress to tug her back to her feet, it pulled awfully on her corset, restricting her breathing.
She had never known this fear before of him. She had always been afraid of him, since the day her father had announced the betrothal, but since their marriage, every day it had grown worse and worse. Never before though had he constricted her breathing. She wasn’t even sure he knew that was what he was doing, the point was he didn’t care enough to notice. He just tossed her around like she was some kind of ivory doll that one would buy for a child to play with.
