And not to even mention her Brighton Beast.
But she couldn’t think about him right now. She might just go mad from it.
The carriage door opened and Calliope stopped short.
Duvessa.
The nauseating sweetness of her stepmother’s perfume struck first, the same scent that had haunted her childhood. The woman sat with imperial composure, hands folded in her lap, a faint, but mocking, smile playing upon her lips as if she had been expecting this scene all along. The months apart had certainly not softened her stepmother. If anything, time had carved her sharper, more harridan than lady, everyinch of her draped in silks, a sight that was both familiar and sickening.
She had thought—hoped—Brighton would be far enough. That last night’s ruin had freed her from this specter of her past.
But here she was.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Duvessa snapped at the men. “Untie the poor thing. We’re not barbarians.”
The man who had pointed the pistol at Prince stepped forward and wrenched at her bindings. The rope fell loose, leaving angry marks she rubbed without thinking. Another shove sent her stumbling again. She caught herself, glaring at him with what defiance she could muster, before stepping into the carriage to face her stepmother.
The man shut the door and rapped on carriage, and with a lurch, the carriage rolled forward.
“We meet again, my dear. Did you truly believe I’d never find you?”
She’d certainly prayed so. “Howdid you find me, stepmother?”
“It took some time, but then I recalled that your mother was prone to that place.”
She was? Calliope hadn’t known. But perhaps her heart did. Perhaps that was what had attracted her to Brighton. A moot point now. “Why come for me at all? I am old enough to make my own choices now.”
Duvessa’s smile did not falter, though her eyes hardened. “Old enough? You ungrateful child. I secure you an advantageous match and you run away? No matter what you do, you are a Balfour, whether you wish it or not, and Balfours do not shirk their duties.”
“Duty! I refuse to marry a man thirty years older than me!”
“You will do what you’re told.”
“I am no one’s pawn,” Calliope shot back, though her voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. “Not yours. Not anyone’s.”
“Your uncle, the current earl, has agreed to the match.”
“Ihave not agreed.”
“Calliope, stop. You’ve had your moment of freedom; now you have to do your duty.”
“And what of you? My uncle is the earl now. What do you have to gain from this match?”
“That is between me and your uncle.”
“So nothing good.”
Her stepmother glared. “Bravery suits you ill, my dear. You may imagine yourself free, but blood binds tighter than rope. And your blood is worth more than you comprehend. Honestly, child, I am doing you a favor.”
“I want nothing from you,” she managed, fingers curling into her skirts to hide their tremor.
Duvessa’s faint laugh slid like a blade into her gut. “No, but I will take everything from you, nonetheless. And you will give it—willingly or otherwise.”
That chilled Calliope. She had to escape. If she didn’t... Duvessa’s games always ended in bruises, and this time Calliope sensed the pain would be greater than ever before if she didn’t find a way out. “You will not get away with this.”
“On the contrary, my dear.” The woman studied her. “How did you manage your little escape? That’s the one thing I haven’t been able to deduce. You must have had help.”
“I’ll never tell you.”
