Kitty’s head snapped up.
“You want me to go to church with you?”
He looked at her then, his gaze firm and piercing. “Yes.”
She looked at her father, at Jane, at the stillness in the room. The weight of what they all expected of her settled like stones in her chest.
There had been a time she might have laughed. Flung something witty or cutting across the space between them just to see if it would land. But now—even her defiance felt hollow. She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded once, almost imperceptibly.
“I see,” she murmured.
Norman breathed slowly and turned toward Richard. “Could you leave for a few minutes?”
“How scandalous!” Jane protested. “Absolutely not!”
He turned back to her, his expression unreadable. “You are concerned about propriety now?”
Jane blushed. “It would be highly improper?—”
“Nothing about this situation is proper,” he stated bluntly. “But here we are.”
Richard paused, then motioned for Jane to come with him. “Come. Let them have a moment.”
Jane sputtered. “You can’t possibly?—”
Richard gave her a glance, and she finally acquiesced with great reluctance.
The door clicked shut.
And Kitty was alone with Norman.
The silence stretched, heavy and charged. She didn’t move. Her spine was straight, her hands clasped in front of her. Stoic. Cold. Like a statue carved to be obedient.
He will not see me cry. He will not see me falter.
“I will come,” she said at last. Her voice was quiet, but it rang clear in the space between them. “I will go through every preparation, smile through every visit, bow my head at every church aisle. I will wear your ring and sit at your side and play the perfect duchess.”
She finally looked at him. Her eyes were bright but unreadable. “But things will be different between us, Your Grace.”
He stilled.
Kitty’s pulse thrummed in her throat, but she held her ground. He will not have my heart. He will not have the part of me that is still mine.
Norman stepped forward, unhurried. The firelight caught the edge of his profile as he stopped before her—closer than propriety allowed.
He tilted his head. “Is that so?”
She didn’t answer.
His gaze flicked over her face, unreadable. Then he raised his hand and touched her chin—lightly, deliberately—guiding her to look up at him.
“Be careful, wife,” he said softly, his voice like velvet laced with steel. “For I will enjoy breaking you.”
Kitty’s breath caught. Not in fear—but in something else entirely. Her skin prickled where he’d touched her, the heat of it lingering even after he let go.
He thinks I am something to bend. Something to shatter and reshape. But he will learn—I do not break easily.
“I look forward to your disappointment,” she said, her voice low.
