In her mind, she’d never fully let herself believe it would truly come to be. She saw now that she’d been going through the motions all along, believing something would happen between her and August—that he would realize his love for her and spirit her away as he’d done Linnie.
But August? He would never be hers. She’d assumed he recognized her as clearly as she recognized him. But he hadn’t. The minute he realized she was a McQuoid, his hatred had swallowed up his desire for her. He had been intentional in his cruelty.
Tears burned at the back of her throat. Maybe he resented Meghan; maybe he believed she had been tricking him.
Fate had allowed her but one moment—and she had blundered it completely.
And now, there was no way out.
A fresh wave of panic tightened her throat. Meghan reached the end of the longest corridor she had ever known—and ran headfirst into a wall.
All the air left her in a noiseless oof; the force of Meghan’s collision sent her flying backward. She hit the floor hard. Pain exploded through her—an excruciating ache radiating up her buttocks and shooting up her spine.
She was dazed, much as she had been the day her brother Brone had urged her to jump from a tree she’d climbed and been too frightened to descend. He had sworn he would catch her.
He had not.
Obviously.
Blinking wildly, Meghan gave her head a small shake and tried to clear the cobwebs.
When she did, her heart sank to the floor with her.
The Duke of Hartwell—an exceedingly displeased Duke of Hartwell—stood over her, staring down the length of his six-foot, broad, well-built frame.
She stared blankly up at him. Maybe he did not recognize her. Did he recognize her from the gallopade? Surely not—when he looked through her all the other times.
“Let’s go,” he bit out tersely.
Hanging her head, Meghan struggled to her feet. There was no assistance forthcoming from her betrothed. “Your Grace, I understand how this must a—”
“Not a word.” He peeled his lip back in a sneer. “Fix your mask, madam.”
Her shaking fingers flew up in swift compliance. As she struggled to right her covering, his eyes burned with such contempt she felt inches tall.
“Now,” he clipped out and started down the hallway.
Swallowing hard, Meghan stood on trembling legs. She stared unblinkingly after his retreating form.
Hartwell didn’t even bother to see if she followed. He summoned her like a dog. His title alone commanded respect. As such, he expected obedience from his duchess.
He would demand Meghan’s full obedience—and then go find happiness outside their household and pleasure from other women. She had heard him say as much herself.
The young girl and romantic she once was raised her voice in silent protest.Even if he still intends to marry you, is this what you want for yourself?
She wanted to say: to hell with marrying the miserable, hard-hearted peer.
His brother loved Linnie to the stars, but that meant nothing when it came to Meghan and Hartwell’s future.
To hell with the shipping alliance between their families. So the war had ended and their opportunities at sea were shrinking? They were of the bloody peerage, with fortunes given them on the luck of birth alone. All that land, fortune, and familial heirlooms wasn’t enough. In their quest for more, Meghan would be forced to surrender her happiness? It was never enough for men.
To hell with itall.
An airy lightness expanded within her.
The duke opened the door and paused.
Hartwell looked around. He found Meghan where he’d left her. His mouth turned down. “Madam?”
