What had her life fallen to?
Marcus Roberts, the Earl of Blakely, wished to marry her for the soul purpose ofpunishingsomebody.
Sweat broke out on her forehead, and her heartbeats sounded loudly in her own head. After counting to ten, she lifted one hand to her chest. There wasn’t enough air in here. Dragging in shallow breaths, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart.
I’ve become a punishment.
When she opened her eyes, the hallway appeared as an endless corridor.
On legs much weaker than they’d been only moments before, she forced herself to walk toward the staircase. She needed to be outside.
Who had she become?
Locating the banister, she carefully made her way down the stairs and outside.
The air chilled her bare skin, but it was not so cold that she needed a wrap. Where could she go? She needed somewhere to hide. She needed to hide from herself, from the past that would haunt her forever.
“Are you running away, Miss Mossant?”
How did he do that?
Rhoda jerked her head around to see Lord Carlisle leaning against one of the brick walls that divided the terrace.
But then he pushed himself away from it and approached her. “I was only joking. Are you unwell?”
Where had her voice gone? She sensed something horrible chasing her. Gripped in inexplicable terror, her mouth refused to form any words and then the lawn, the walls, the trees were spinning out of control.
She shook her head in confusion.
In the next instant, strong arms tightened around her, pressing the side of her face against the wool of his jacket. “Shh… It’s all right. Take deep breaths.” His voice soothed, as did the motions of his hand stroking her hair and back.
She rested against his strength, eventually absorbing his warmth but still unable to make her voice work. She wanted to apologize, to step away from him but her body refused to obey.
After what could have been hours or mere seconds, he finally steered her toward a conveniently placed lawn chair.
Sitting unaided, now, she should feel better, not leaning against him, clinging to him. Instead, she acutely bemoaned the loss of his touch.
He’d located another chair for himself.
“I remember the first time my mother brought me to Eden’s Court. Surely, I felt it must belong to the king himself.”
Rhoda’s heart slowed a little at his words. Even though they seemed to come from far away, they summoned her back to the present.
“I was all of eleven years old. The duchess invited us for the summer. My mother was ecstatic! And how could I complain? There were even other boys my age.”
“Harold? St. John?” Ah, her voice worked once again.
“And Dev.”
“How exactly are you related to them?” She’d never really asked him about himself. The sound of her heartbeats no longer echoed as loudly. The air she breathed in actually filled her lungs now.
He seemed to make himself more comfortable before answering. “My mother is a distant cousin to the dowager,verydistant.”
“So, you inherited your title through your father?”
“Ah, yes.” But he didn’t say anything more on that. Suddenly, curiosity prodded her.
“How long ago did your father die?” She was being nosey now. Would he mind?
