The Duke Who Claimed Her

A STEAMY HISTORICAL REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

REGENCY DADDIES

BOOK ONE

MAYBEL BARDOT

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About the Book

"Touching you, Arabella... is the only thing I ever want to do."

Jilted at the altar and caught alone with England's most vicious duke…

Arabella has only one way to save her reputation: Marry him.

The Duke of Glastonbury only needs a mother for his orphaned nephew.

He has only one rule for his accidental bride: No love. 

Until one reckless touch of hers changes everything.

Now all he wants is to show his duchess exactly how a husband claims his wife.

Before You Start Reading…

Here is Caspian’s Prequel Chapter which will help you understand and visualize the story inside my book better.

Many of my readers requested it and that's why I am giving it away for free! I believe you will LOVE IT!

It’s not mandatory to read it, but it will be really helpful if it's your first time with this book.

Read the story here.

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Chapter One

“Ihave done all that I can and more,” Miss White pleaded. “Our lessons are those I have applied to a dozen children. I have worked with five other families, none of whom have had any reason to complain. Please, Your Grace, I am not trying to escape punishment, nor pass the blame onto another. I am merely telling you, as a professional, that there is only so much I am able to do.”

“Excuses…” Caspian Seymour, the Duke of Glastonbury, said darkly as he stared into the flickering flames of the hearth. They licked the brick walls, turning them black, the heat so intense that he felt its burn on his face. “That is what I am hearing.”

“Not excuses,” Miss White said with some courage. She was far older than Caspian, close to sixty, but that age meant little as she had a hard face, a stubborn personality, and was not one to bend easily. “Merely statements of fact.”

“If you cannot do your job, Miss White, I will happily hire another who is more capable. There is no shortage of governesses available in England.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Caspian saw Miss White’s hesitancy. While she often complained and appeared desperate to free herself of a position that grew harder with each passing day, the mere thought of being let go was anathema to her. Was it pride? Was it arrogance? Or was she telling the truth, and this simply was not her fault?

“You may do so, Your Grace,” Miss White said carefully, not daring to raise her voice. “Although I have no doubt that if you do, whoever you hire will say the same thing as I.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Master Timothy is a sweet boy, Your Grace,” she said, and the warmth in her voice told Caspian that she spoke the truth. “He is also intelligent and perceptive. Sadly, his unpredictability is making it impossible for me to teach him as he needs to be taught. Some days, he is welcoming and eager. Others, he refuses to listen and seems intent on disruption for no reason I can gather.”

“He is eight,” Caspian said sharply. “Disruption is what children do.”

“He is also deeply depressed.” Miss White’s voice cracked. “He spent much of last night crying, and he spent all this morning hiding from me. Even the task of getting him ready to join you today was an exercise in patience and control, the likes of which grows worse by the day.”

“He…” Caspian turned and found Miss White watching him. She wore no malice in her expression, just pity and sadness. “He was crying?”

“All night,” she said.

Caspian resisted the urge to grimace, not wanting to show Miss White his surprise or his worry. That he did not know that Timothy had been crying… it shamed him greatly, confirming the gulf which existed between himself and his nephew.

Timothy had lived with Caspian for one year, taken in as his ward the week after Timothy’s parents had died in a tragic accident. And while Caspian had done his best the past year to make Timothy feel at home, to give him the life that he needed and deserved, he knew too well how tremendously he had failed.

And if I did not know it, this confirms it…

“No one is blaming you, Miss White.” Sitting in the room with Caspian and Miss White was Penelope, the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough, Caspian’s cousin. “Truly, Miss White, we know you are doing your best.”

“I am worried about the child,” Miss White said, sighing deeply, letting her shoulders sag so that she looked even older than her sixty years.

“As are we all.” Penelope stood from her chair and crossed the room. “For now, perhaps it is best that you tend to Master Timothy. No doubt he is lonely and needs some company.”

Miss White nodded. “I will find him, Your Grace. And please…” She looked again at Caspian, who had gone back to staring into the fire. “Think on what I have told you.”

“We will,” Penelope assured her.

Penelope said nothing as Miss White excused herself and hurried from the drawing room. When she opened the door, the sound of laughter swept inside, that of the dozens of guests currently filling the manor. But then the door closed, the moody silence returned, and Caspian continued to stare into the flames.

For a moment, he felt his cousin’s eyes on him, as he felt her concern.

She was five-and-forty, ten years older than Caspian, enough that she looked at Caspian as more of a mother than a mere cousin. Regal in appearance, her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, her white skin was blemish-free, and her dark blue eyes were warm and caring in a way Caspian struggled to relate to.

It was strange to think that Caspian and Penelope had similar upbringings. Death haunted their pasts, and sorrow was a constant companion. While Caspian embraced the torment—brooding, moody, and emotionally detached—his cousin rose above it. She was the light in the darkness and often guided him where no one else would.

“She is right, you know,” Penelope said after some time. “And to blame her for the way Timothy behaves will solve nothing.”

Caspian did not turn around. “And who else should I blame? Timothy? The boy has been through enough.”

“It is not about assigning blame. You must remember, Timothy is still in mourning. No doubt, his actions are a direct reflection of that.”

“It has been a year,” Caspian said darkly, although such anger was not directed at his nephew. In truth, even a year later, he still felt great sorrow whenever he thought about his sister, and great shame because his failure with Timothy felt like a betrayal of her. “A year in which I have given him everything. In which I have…” He clicked his tongue. “In which I have done everything. The boy wants for nothing.”

“It is not about having his needs met,” Penelope said gently. She rested her hand on his shoulder. “As you must know, there is only so much that you can do. He has a governess. He has servants. He has everything, save for the one thing he truly needs…”

Caspian’s body stiffened with that final utterance. His cousin did not need to say what she meant, because she had said it already. Time and again, she raised the same point, and time and again, Caspian turned her down.

But is she right? Is my stubbornness set to ruin the child?

“You should return to the party,” he said, choosing to ignore her words. “No doubt, you are missed.”

She laughed. “They will be fine without me.”

“As will I be.”

They were at Dowager Duchess of Marlborough’s manor of the moment, sequestered in her drawing room as Caspian had needed somewhere private to speak with Miss White. Done because Timothy had been caught peeling wallpaper from the walls, free to do so because Miss White had lost track of him.

In truth, Caspian was the one who should have been watching Timothy. The boy had not wanted to attend Penelope’s garden party, and he had complained viciously about it. And while Caspian had not wanted to attend either, he forced the issue, thinking it would be good for the boy to be around his peers and children his age.

It was ironic in many ways that Caspian agreed with Timothy’s objections and that he understood the boy better at that moment than ever before.

As Timothy abhors being here, so do I. Is that why he acts this way? As he sees me do, he does the same… As I did with my own father.

“Do not change the subject,” Penelope said, dropping her hand and stepping around Caspian so that she could see his face. “Not again. Not anymore. For a time, your objections on the subject were heard, and I thought that maybe I was being too blunt.”

“You still are,” Caspian said, but with a smirk, because that was his cousin’s way, and he had always admired that about her.

“The boy does not need material things,” she pressed as she looked at him. “What he needs is warmth, love… a family. You have done your best, Caspian, and you know how proud I am of you, as would be your sister…” Her voice turned sad for a moment, and Caspian felt a pang in his chest. “But you can only do so much.”

“It will make no difference,” he sighed, feeling the fight leave him as the reality screamed in his ears to listen.

“You do not know that,” she continued. “And considering what Miss White has just said, can you really afford not to try?”

Caspian kept staring into the flames of the hearth as if seeking answers. But the heat, the way it burned his skin, felt like the flames were rejecting his objections—the undeniable truth laid bare, and one he could no longer deny.

“I will not marry for the mere sake of it,” Caspian snapped. “I will not marry just because you think it might help.”

“It is not for the mere sake of anything,” Penelope argued. “It is for Timothy. And correct me if I am wrong, but did you not once tell me that for him, you would do anything?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “That for your sister, there was no length to which you would not go?”

“I…” Caspian winced. “This is different.”

“How?” She folded her arms. “Or is it just that you know I am right? Without any good argument to make, you fall back on vagaries and emotion. Odd, for one who shows so little of it himself.”

Caspian turned and snarled at Penelope as if that might scare her away. But she kept her arms folded, the look on her face righteous and unflinching. She was right… and oh, how I hate that she is.

It was no secret that Caspian had no desire to marry. His childhood was the reason—a time when he grew up in a household where his father treated his mother with such cruelty and wickedness that it drove her to an early grave. Even worse, his father did not care and did not pretend to. In fact, he was proud of himself, calling his wife weak, while always sure to tell Caspian that if he ever married, he would likely do the same to his own wife; after all, he was his father’s son.

Thus, Caspian had made it known to the world that he would never wed. When his father died and he inherited his title, he doubled down on this assertion, adopting a life of drinking and gambling and any activity he could think of that might warn would-be debutantes away.

Not that it helped.

Despite Caspian’s reputation, he was still a duke, and he knew that should his cousin make it known that he was searching for a wife, the list of those women desperate to be named a duchess would be endless.

“I will make it as painless as possible.” Penelope must have been able to read his mind. Or maybe she could just see the defeated and objectionable look on his face? “I know what you like and do not like. I know who might be good for you.”

“It will be a short list of contenders if you do that,” he laughed bitterly. “This place… no one cares who they marry, only that they are titled. Ambition to call themselves a duchess, a driving will to set themselves apart from the rest. That is all they want.”

“And you care?” Penelope asked. “Do not tell me that you seek a love match.”

“Of course I do not!” he snapped at her.

A love match… does such a thing even exist?

She scoffed. “Leave it with me, Caspian. And please, just trust me. Timothy needs a mother, and dare I say that you might also benefit from having someone in your life, too.”

“Now you go too far.” He glanced at his cousin and saw the sadness in her eyes because she knew his loneliness and the reason for it. “See it done,” he sighed in defeat. “Names only, Penelope. No promises. No guarantees. This is not me saying yes, merely me considering it.”

Her smile was neither warm nor hopeful. Rather, it told him what Caspian already knew: that whoever she chose, the marriage sure to come would be one of coldness and misery because that was the only thing that Caspian was capable of offering.

“I will see it done,” she said. “For Timothy, Caspian. Remember that.”

“For Timothy,” he agreed as he turned back to the fire.

This was not for himself. This was not so that Caspian might one day find happiness. Such a state of being was not something he believed in, and to think differently or hope would only lead to the type of pain he knew too well.

But for Timothy… the boy was not as broken as he appeared, and so there was hope that his life might improve. Truly, that was the only thing that kept Caspian’s objections, of which there were many.

Penelope’s garden party had been ill-timed, in Caspian’s opinion. Not because of anything that she had done, but because the moment that it started, a storm swept across the estate and forced the party-goers indoors.

As luck had it, that storm was fleeting, and no sooner was Caspian walking from the drawing room to find Timothy than Penelope directed her guests back into the garden so they might continue their festivities.

Caspian, of course, had no intention of joining them.

I will find Timothy, and we will leave.

Frustratingly, Timothy was nowhere to be seen, nor was Miss White. Caspian avoided heading into the garden, instead sweeping the interior of the manor, hoping he might find his nephew so he could avoid seeing and talking to anyone. But after fifteen minutes of searching, he was empty-handed, and with no other choice, he was forced to face the party.

The moment Caspian stepped outdoors, he was promptly reminded of why he avoided these types of gatherings in the first place.

“Your Grace!” Lady Miranda Eastwood, a close friend of Penelope’s, was on him as soon as he stepped into the garden. “There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“You have found me.” Caspian swept his eyes over the busy party, searching out Timothy. The boy had to be somewhere!

“I was hoping to introduce you to my daughter…” Lady Eastwood turned slightly, searching for her daughter to come and greet him. “She is lovely, Your Grace. I know the two of you will get along famously.”

“Another time…” Caspian put his head down and charged ahead.

“When would that be?” Lady Eastwood called, to which Caspian did not respond.

A few steps later Caspian found himself facing down Lady Whitmore. She was also close with the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough, and she had a daughter whom she was certain Caspian would love.

“Let me find her for you,” Lady Whitmore said. “She has been so eager to meet you.”

“I am afraid I cannot stay,” Caspian said as he stepped around her, still searching for Timothy. “But thank you.”

“Your Grace!” a cry from a different lady. “A moment, please!”

It was like this everywhere that Caspian went. He was five-and-thirty years old, a perfect age for marriage. He was a duke, a title any lord or lady would be thrilled to attach to their daughter. He was also tall, strongly built with wide shoulders and a heavy back, dark hair, and a handsome face that was angular and sharp like a marble statue. Often, he was told that he looked as if his face had been designed purposefully to be drawn and then admired.

Never mind that he was a known rake. Never mind that he was a known gambler. Never mind that he had made it his life’s mission to adopt a reputation that should have frightened any respectable lady away from him. Never mind that!

My title is all they care about… my wealth… and how they might use me.

Perhaps such things should not have bothered Caspian, as he had no desire to fall in love. But deep down, there was the fear that such a thing might just happen, and that when it did, the inevitable pain of a broken heart was sure to follow.

Better to avoid such things entirely.

Caspian moved through the garden party without stopping, avoiding any chance of being cornered. Sadly, Timothy was nowhere in sight, which made Caspian think the obvious. The boy was known to sneak off when he was not watched, and with his sour mood, there was a good chance he had left the premises altogether.

Feeling the walls closing in around him, needing to find Timothy and leave at once, Caspian decided to do a quick search of the outer estate.

Marlborough Estate was far smaller than Caspian’s own lands, surrounded mostly by sparse forest which separated the manor from a nearby village. Such terrain made it difficult to scout quickly, so Caspian ducked from the back garden and followed a dirt path that he had once found Timothy exploring.

The dirt path led into the forest, winding among the trees and snaking away from his cousin’s house until the sound of the party grew distant and then disappeared completely.

Above, lightning suddenly cracked across the sky. The low rumble of thunder followed. And with the drop in air temperature, Caspian was sure the rain was about to come back.

Where is that boy?

Suddenly, the path that Caspian followed opened as the forest fell back, and Caspian rounded the final bend to find himself in the middle of a large glade. What was more, a small abbey sat flush in the middle of the glade, and from the way the ground was churned all around it, Caspian guessed that it had recently been attended. A segregation, maybe?

A single carriage also sat at the abbey corner. It was unguarded, with horses quietly waiting, and Caspian wondered if their owner was inside.

However, such a spot was exactly where someone like Timothy would be hiding. The boy really was a menace.

Caspian sighed as he trudged through the mud and torn-up grass, shaking his head, reminding himself that when he found the child, he could not let anger take over. The boy wanted warmth? He wanted proof that he was cared for? It was time Caspian showed him.

“Timothy!” Caspian called as he strode into the abbey. “Timothy, are you…” His words caught in his throat.

Timothy was nowhere to be seen, but that did not mean the abbey was empty. The only person inside that Caspian could see was sitting alone beneath the altar, crying as if the world was ending.

Caspian started in surprise, very nearly turned and hurried away, but found himself frozen to the spot as he looked at the crying woman, utterly captivated and transfixed for reasons he could not explain.

She wore an emerald gown, currently bunched up around her as she sat with her knees pulled into her chest on the ground. The gown’s color highlighted the auburn in her hair, making it glow brightly as if her head was on fire. Her skin was as white as milk. The sound of her soft, sad crying gently floated across the abbey and cut straight to Caspian’s heart.

It took her a moment to realize he was there. Once she did…

She turned suddenly, dropped her hands from her face, and her eyes widened in surprise and fear. Her eyes were crystal blue, glistened red, and too big for her round face.

She is beautiful…

“Who are you?” she asked, a little aggressively, a note of panic in her voice. Those big eyes looked about, searching the abbey as if in worry. “Where did you come from?”

“Is something the matter?” Caspian asked, meaning it. He rarely cared about others, but worry flooded him, along with a need to help this woman he did not know. “Did someone…”

“You need to leave.” The woman was on her feet. She wiped her nose, looked around again, and the panic on her face grew. “Now!”

Caspian blinked. “I… What is going on? Why are you here?”

“You cannot be here.” She rushed down the aisle. “Please! Before he⁠—”

“Arabella!” The voice was like a clap of thunder, booming from outside and washing through the abbey in a way that had the young woman stumbling back as if she had been slapped.

“Arabella!” the shout came again.

“My father,” she said desperately. “If he finds you here… please!”

“Your father…” Caspian turned to follow where the voice had come from. He had no idea what was going on, but every instinct he possessed told him that he could not possibly leave.

“Embarrassed! Ashamed! Do not think to run, girl!”

Caspian firmed himself as the voice came closer, and he set a snarl on his face just as the owner of that voice stormed into the abbey.

Chapter Two

Miss Arabella Witherington had never felt so mortified. Her day was ruined, her life was left in shambles, and just when she thought the embarrassment could not get any worse, a strange man stumbled upon her just in time to see her broken and defeated and utterly spent.

He was handsome, she saw quickly. His face, a perfect shape made up of symmetrical lines, as if he were a drawing come to life. Dark hair too. Gray eyes that were surprisingly caring, as she might have expected a scowl to emanate from their depths because, in her experience, that was what most other men of this world would do.

Not that any of that matters!

She did not care that the handsome stranger had seen her in such a state of grief because it was not as if he knew her—or as if he could make her day any worse. What mattered most to her, and what took her breath away as she braced herself for the worst to come, was her father.

“There you are!” Lord Witherington burst onto the abbey in a way that made the storm outside pale in comparison.

“Father!” she cried, taking a step back.

Lord Witherington was a most repellent creature. Tall and lithe like a blade, he was well into his fifties, with a sharp face and a long nose and a pointed chin that made him look like a bird of prey. It did not help that his hairline had receded halfway up his scalp; the baldness of his spotted head added to the bird-like imagery perfectly.

But his eyes were small and cruel. His lips were thin. And where he was, anger was sure to follow.

“Good,” he spat when he saw her. “I worried that you might have fled. Perhaps you should have, for it is not as if you could embarrass me more than you…” He stopped short, only just then noticing the handsome stranger. “Who are you?”

The handsome stranger did not hesitate in the face of her father’s fury. Instead, he appeared to stand taller, his feet slightly apart, his stance like a bulwark bracing for an oncoming tidal wave.

Always, since she was a girl, Arabella had felt weak and helpless around her father. She had no agency, no power, and was completely unable to stand up to him. Yet, for some reason, seeing the stranger stand before her father, stepping slightly to block her from his path, made her feel… well, not quite as helpless.

In fact, she might have even said that she felt safe, as absurd as that was.

“Who I am is not important,” the stranger snarled. “I would ask that you take account of yourself, and how you think to speak to a lady. Especially in my presence.”

Her father reared back, momentarily speechless. But then, he regained his composure, and his thin lips curled. “How I speak with my own daughter is nobody’s business. In fact, I think it is best that you leave… whoever you are.”

“I think that I will stay.”

Was it so strange that Arabella felt a dull flicker of excitement at seeing someone stand up to her father? Hope, also. Such a thing was unheard of in her life, and to think that this man, whom she did not know, would do such a thing?

Who is he? Why does he care?

As for her father? Arabella often wondered if it was possible to hate someone more than she did him. He was controlling. He was cruel. He was the type who did as he pleased, often ruining everything as a result, only to blame everyone else because he could not fathom a world where his word was not law.

Today, what had just occurred was a perfect example of this.

It was supposed to be Arabella’s wedding day. She did not love the man whom she was set to wed, but her father had arranged it, and Arabella had no choice but to comply. However, it was just as the ceremony was set to begin that her groom learned the truth of the arrangement, one that her father had been desperate to keep hidden until after the vows were exchanged… and one that he knew would infuriate her betrothed.

Arabella’s father was broke; a lifetime spent gambling and drinking had such an effect. Therefore, the dowry promised to her betrothed was a thing of myth, and when he learned that he had been tricked and lied to, he promptly denounced her and her father and stormed from the abbey in a state of fury.

The guests soon followed. Then her father chased after them, begging them to hold their tongues because his reputation was all that he cared about. Not her! Not that his daughter was left mortified! Worse still, as Arabella collapsed into a heap, tears falling from her face, she knew that her father would find a way to blame her for the day’s calamity. As always, it was everyone’s fault but his.

Indeed, the expression on her father’s face as he looked at the stranger, and then when he glared a warning back at her, was proof that Arabella was right.

“I do not know who you are,” her father spoke darkly to the stranger. “Perhaps you have wandered here by mistake, no idea what it is you have found yourself in the middle of. For that reason alone, I will give you one more chance to leave. Now!”

“Father, please…” Arabella’s voice was weak.

“What I have walked into?” The stranger looked from Arabella to her father; anger for him, pity for her. “As I see it, there is a daughter in need, and a father who ought to watch his tongue before he says something that might see it removed.”

Her father balked at the threat, only to harden his expression. “That does it, I warned you…” He started toward the stranger.

“Father, no!”

“Lay one hand on me and you will wish you had not,” the stranger bellowed suddenly. He did not rear back. He did not brace. He was perfectly calm, even as his call came out like a drum. “These are my cousin’s lands, and as I do not know you, I can only assume that you are trespassing.”

Arabella’s father stopped suddenly. “Your cousin… The Duchess Marlborough?”

“The very same.”

Arabella knew the name, of course, as her father had requested the use of this abbey for the ceremony, so her name had been mentioned in passing. However, she knew little beyond that. Her father, on the other hand, seemed to understand another meaning in the stranger’s declaration, as his face paled and his eyes widened with what could only be described as a fearful realization.

And once again, Arabella took pleasure in seeing her father so distressed.

“Your Grace!” her father cried. “I had no idea!”

Arabella gasped. A closer look at the stranger now… no, the Duke! He must have been the Duke of Glastonbury. She knew little of him, save for the odd rumors that she had heard. A rake, a gambler, the worst of men! Also, as she had been told countless times, he was as handsome as the days were long. That, she found hard to disagree with.

“How could you have known?” the Duke sneered. “You were too busy berating your daughter.”

“You do not understand,” her father protested, shoving away his anger. “My daughter has embarrassed me in ways that… She has shamed me like no other.”

“That is a lie!” Arabella cried. “I did nothing of the sort.”

“Quiet!” her father snapped before turning to the Duke again. “She was set to be married, Your Grace. Lord Rochester, a name I am sure you know? All was set, only for him to change his mind at the last minute. She has done this. Always, she disappoints me.”

“That is not true!” Without thinking of what she was doing, Arabella strode to the Duke and took him by the arm. She did not know him. She had no reason to trust him. But for some reason, he made her feel safe in the face of her father’s accusations and anger. “My father is the reason, Your Grace. There was nothing I could have done.”

“Lies,” her father spat. “See how effortlessly they fall from her lips.”

“Please!” She clung to the Duke’s arm. “You must believe me…”

The Duke said nothing. Instead, he looked at her hand wrapped around his arm with a mix of surprise and confusion. It took Arabella a moment too long to realize she had made a mistake, only to suddenly let go and hurriedly step back.

“Apologies.” She bowed her head. “I should not have… This is not your dilemma to solve.”

“See what she does?” her father said. “How she throws herself at…” He scoffed and shook his head. “It is no wonder that Lord Rochester turned her down.”

Arabella felt the Duke’s eyes on her. There was no anger in them, nor was there judgment. She felt his pity, and for some reason, that was even worse.

“I am sorry to hear that,” the Duke said finally. “Marriage is… hard. Daughters, too, I can only imagine. My presence here has clearly ruffled some feathers, so if you will excuse me.”

“Please…” Arabella found herself saying.

She snapped her head up and looked pleadingly at the Duke. Once he left her, she would be forced to face her father alone, and, as she knew would happen, he would be sure to punish her severely.

The Duke hesitated. He looked from her to her father; his brow furrowed in thought. And for a moment, Arabella held her breath. She did not know what he could do, but she had to believe that he could help.

Only then did she notice her father studying the Duke and the way that he looked at her. At first, her father appeared bemused, even wary of a man who stood over him in ways he was not used to. But then, a wicked smile crossed his face, and his eyes flashed with malice.

On no… Arabella’s stomach dropped because she recognized that look, and from her own personal experience, no good would come from it.

“I do find it curious, Your Grace, what it is that you are doing here in the first place.” Her father held that wicked smile as he stepped forward. “Very curious.”

“It is no concern of yours.”

“That is where you are mistaken,” her father parried. “You seem awfully concerned for my daughter, a woman whom you do not know. I cannot help but wonder why that is. Have you met before?”

The Duke scoffed. “Of course not.”

“Yet here you are, alone with her, and as soon as her marriage was ended for reasons that I am struggling to fully grasp.”

Arabella saw where her father was heading with his questions. She knew him, which was why she understood how his mind worked. She gasped and took a step toward him. “Father, you know why⁠—”

“Quiet!” he snapped at her before facing the Duke again. “Dare I question if you are the cause, Your Grace? That you and my daughter have been conspiring together?”

The Duke stiffened. “Careful in what you say next…”

“It does not matter what I say,” her father said, acting bereaved, while unable to hide how pleased he was. “What matters is what people will think. And when they hear that I found the two of you together like this, they will come to their own conclusions.”

“That is not…” The Duke went to snarl, but the words came out broken. “I am searching for my nephew. That is the reason I am here.”

“And where is he?” her father asked. “Oh, I believe you, Your Grace. And if anyone asks, I will be sure to tell them. But you might understand my worries, yes? As you must surely understand, the situation you have put my daughter in.”

Arabella’s stomach rose as her breathing stagnated, and her legs trembled. The walls around her started to turn, and all she could do was stare wide-eyed in shock. Again, she knew where this was going, just as she knew there was nothing that she could do to stop it.

“There is no one else here,” the Duke said, a note of panic behind his voice. “And no one needs to know⁠—”

“But they will know,” her father cut him off, allowing his excitement to show. “Somehow, it will be found out. And then what? You might deny it. You might refuse to admit it. But it will ruin my daughter as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow. No matter your intent, you have damned her!”

The Duke looked stunned and worried, his face pale and jaw clenched. Arabella could see him trying to work through the situation to find a way out.

And all the while, her father’s grin crept up the side of his face. Triumph, as he saw it. He was always quite skilled at manipulation.

“There is only one course of action,” her father continued, giddy now with the scent of victory in the air. “You must marry my daughter, lest her reputation be ruined for all time.”

The Duke froze, his body becoming stiff. As her father’s words sank in, Arabella saw a transformation in the Duke that truly scared her. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightened, and a storm brewed in his eyes that made the one outside look pale by comparison.

“How dare you?” the Duke hissed.

“Excuse me?” Her father blinked.

“You mean to manipulate me?” He seethed at her father. “You truly believe that…” His body shook. “Think carefully about what you say next, because those may be the last words you ever speak.”

Once again, Arabella’s father hesitated, the realization passing through him that he had overstepped and that the Duke was the one man he could not intimidate. Arabella held her breath, praying he was wise enough to recognize his mistake.

“I… I am not trying to manipulate you,” he said, though with little conviction. “I am merely pointing out the difficult position you have placed me in.”

“No,” the Duke said. “You created this situation, and now you mean to use it.”

“My daughter is my only concern,” he said, making Arabella flare with anger. “I do not mean to insult you, Your Grace. I would not dare. But surely you can see the bind I am in?”

“No, Father!” Arabella came into herself suddenly.

She had been there before. Throughout her life, she found herself on the receiving end of her father’s schemes. And every single time, she bowed her head and went along with them because she had no other choice. None was the answer.

But I do have a choice. I will not be his to control.

“Stop it.” She strode toward her father. “You know well enough that what you say is a lie, and I will not allow you to try and manipulate His Grace. Or me.”

“Quiet,” her father snarled.

“I will not be,” she said bravely. Not like her at all, but with the Duke there… for some reason, his mere presence gave her a sense of bravery she’d never experienced before. “Even if my life is left in ruins, I would rather that than be caught up in one of your schemes. For once, accept that you do not own⁠—”

The slap came from nowhere.

In the blink of an eye, her father’s hand found the side of her face. White hot pain exploded from her cheek, and Arabella gasped as she stumbled back.

“You ungrateful, girl,” her father sneered as he held up his hand to threaten a second slap. “Know your place, or I will remind you where exactly you belong.”

“Enough!” The Duke was like a boulder rolling down a hill. He came for her father, his bulk shaking the abbey as he moved. A second later, he had one huge hand wrapped around her father’s arm as he positioned himself between them. “Try that again, and I will break your hand.”

“She is my daughter,” her father growled as he tried to wrench his arm free. “I will punish her as is my right!”

Arabella could not see the Duke’s face, but she felt his fury as he stared her father down. Not as tall as he was, but broader in the shoulders and infinitely more powerful. He positioned himself over her father so that her father looked little more than a child. Even with her swollen cheek, Arabella took some joy in the sight.

“Your daughter, perhaps,” the Duke snarled warningly at her father. “But my betrothed, and as such, you will not touch her.”

Arabella gasped.

Her father’s eyes widened and he stopped resisting. “Does that mean…” He laughed gleefully.

The Duke groaned and released her father’s arm. Then he turned to face Arabella. He did not appear excited or happy. There was no warmth in his gray eyes. And when their stares met, Arabella was caught between relief, fear, and regret. Another marriage that she did not want, forced on her because she had never been in control of her own fate.

But how to feel about this one? Was it a blessing, or was it a curse the likes of which she could not fathom? All things considered, she could not say.

All she could do was stare as the Duke’s voice dropped to a whisper, again implying he was unhappy with the words he spoke.

“I am not doing this because of you,” the Duke hissed at her father. “Know that to be true. Were I a different type of man, I might drag you outside and…” He clenched his jaw as if to hold back his anger. “What I am is honor-bound, a man of duty who recognizes that sometimes, we do not have a choice.” He held her in his gaze in a way that made it seem as if his anger was for her. “I will take your daughter to be my wife. To save her name, to protect her, and most importantly, to free her from you.”

Chapter Three

Caspian stood outside the closed door. It led to a small antechamber at the back of the abbey, where his now betrothed was waiting. After he declared his intent to marry her, Lord Witherington asked her to leave the nave so he and Caspian could discuss the details of the marriage.

A marriage! It still sounds absurd, just to consider it.

It was an hour ago when Caspian finally agreed that he would consider the possibility of marriage. Even then, he doubted it would actually happen. He said it more to appease his cousin and to cover his own guilt because he knew deep down he needed to do better by Timothy.

An hour ago… How quickly things can change.

His discussion with Lord Witherington was brief. Mostly, it was to confirm that a license would be obtained quickly so the marriage could proceed before either of them had a chance to change their mind. Once that was settled, he sent Lord Witherington to fetch his cousin, as Caspian was sure she was wondering where he had disappeared to.

Also, he needed her advice. And desperately. Was this a terrible idea? Was it the right thing? Hopefully, his cousin would align his fears…

However, before doing anything else, Caspian still needed to talk to one person. If the marriage was going to happen, he had to make his bride understand what the marriage would entail. Just as important, he needed her to see that he had not done this to trap her, but to save her.

Or was it to save myself? Again, Caspian could not say.

Rain drummed against the abbey’s roof, bringing confusion and doubt. Caspian, never one to let his emotions control him, felt more nervous than ever before. With no idea what to expect or even what he wanted, he took a deep breath to steady himself, grasped the door handle, and entered the small room.

“Oh.” Miss Witherington was sitting when Caspian entered the room, but she jumped to her feet immediately. “I was… You are here.”

Caspian came to a stop. Not intentionally, but in that small room, alone, suddenly with his betrothed, he was caught off guard in a way he should not have been surprised by but was nonetheless unprepared for.

She was beautiful; that was the reason. Her thick auburn hair shimmered, illuminating the room. Her blue eyes were captivating, impossible not to stare at, and those Caspian found himself getting lost in. Skin as white as milk. Full lips. And when he dared to flick his eyes downward, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of her hourglass figure.

He swallowed unintentionally, stared a moment longer, and then snapped himself out of his trance, forcing composure because those things were necessary.

“I have just come from speaking with your father,” he began, focusing on her forehead so that he did not lose himself in her eyes again. “And we have agreed that when the license is procured, the marriage will go ahead.”

“Oh…” She blinked as if the news surprised her. “That is… Yes, that makes sense. I suppose it is for the best.”

Caspian did not know what reaction he expected from her. As silly as it sounded, he figured he might have appreciated some gratitude. After all, he had every reason to feel as upset as she probably did, the only difference being that he was doing it for the right reasons.

It might be nice if she were grateful, at least. It is not as if I want this!

“You suppose?” he said, biting back his frustration. “It is a good thing. Your father will be kept at bay, and your reputation will not be ruined by scandal. I am doing this for you. It is not as if I…” He clicked his tongue. “I did not orchestrate this.”

“I did not say that you did,” she said.

“You sound as if you think so,” he said sharply. “Just as you look as if I am responsible for it. As if I… Your father is the one who did this.”

It was ridiculous, he knew. But the look she gave him showed no gratitude. No sign of relief at all. Instead, she seemed unsure, as if she might change her mind. As if he were the one who needed to explain himself!

And people wonder why I never wanted to marry…

“And I do appreciate that,” she said carefully. As she spoke, she fidgeted with her hands, just as she constantly looked up at him and then away. “And while I will forever remain grateful, I feel that I should make it clear…” She took a deep breath, and when she looked up that time, she did not look away. “I will do as is expected of me, as your wife. In that, you have nothing to fear. However, I also wish for you to know that I intend to remain as my own person.”

Caspian blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I will not be trapped,” she said with more bravery than she had shown so far. “I did not escape my father’s controlling influence only so I might be found under your own. I am not to be used.”

Caspian stared at her in bewilderment.

He had hoped for gratitude. He had hoped that she might realize that he had saved her. Instead, she thought to make demands of him.

Caspian looked down at Miss Witherington, viewing her differently than before. When he first saw her, she was crying. When her father appeared, she withdrew and played the victim. But now, for reasons he could not understand, she changed like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Not nearly the meek little thing she has played at being.

“What is expected of you?” Caspian said, not wasting time hiding his frustration. “That is for me to decide, as I decide it. Once we wed, you will be a duchess, and you will act like one. You will obey.”

She exhaled sharply from her nose. “Oh, lucky me. A duchess. Is this not the happiest day of my life?”

Caspian’s eyes flashed with anger as he bore over her. He did not mean to do so, but he was still coming to terms with what he wanted from this marriage. What he had seen earlier, too, suggested at the very least that Miss Witherington might be subservient, the type who would not cause him headaches or give him a reason to regret this whole thing.

But the look of defiance she directed at him contradicted that belief, and now Caspian wondered if it might be wise to cancel the marriage before it even began.

“I will remind you, Miss Witherington, that the marriage has not yet been made official. Would you like me to fetch your father? I will happily change my mind and leave you in his capable hands if it is preferable.”

“What?” Her blue eyes widened, and her face paled. “No! Please, that is not…” She looked pleadingly at him. “I did not mean…”

“What, exactly, did you mean then?” he said sharply. “I did not expect to find myself engaged today, Miss Witherington. In fact, until an hour ago, I had hoped I never would be. And while I do not expect your undying gratitude, it might be nice if you, at the very least, realized that you are not the sole victim here. Not even close.”

She winced and looked away, finally showing a hint of deference. “I apologize, Your Grace. I did not mean…” She grimaced, and despite all she had said, Caspian felt a stab of pity. “It is just that I have spent my entire life being controlled by my father.”

“I am not your father.”

“Which is why I wish to know. What is this marriage?” Again, she looked up at him. Hope, in those blue eyes. “I am your prisoner? Because if that is what you want from me, then… then…” She bit into her lip, and the hope in her eyes transformed into defiance. “Then I will have no choice but to deny your hand.”

Again, Caspian looked at her with bewilderment.

She was undoubtedly terrified, and he could see from the way she fidgeted how nervous she was. In a way, her determination to establish herself was endearing, proof that she was not like the other ladies Caspian had met. Definitely not like those he knew would marry him without question.

But Caspian was tired. He was annoyed. And he was not one to barter for a circumstance that he did not want in the first place!

So, rather than showing her deference and easing her worry, Caspian did as he often did when put with his back to the wall. He stood his ground and bullied his way through the problem.

“Deny me?” he scoffed. “And you think that is an option, do you?”

“It is,” she said without sounding like she believed it.

“And then what? You will be shamed. You will be scandalized. Never mind your father’s wrath. Likely, you will be forced to live your life as a spinster, banished from society for the rest of your days.”

“A small price to pay for my freedom.”

“That is not…” He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I am trying to help you. Why can you not see that?”

“Then answer the question,” she fired back. “What will this marriage be?”

“Whatever I want it to be!” he shouted before he could stop himself. Miss Witherington leaned back in shock, and Caspian almost apologized… Almost. “You wish to know what I want? I want obedience. I want peace of mind. I want you to be grateful for what I have done. I saved you, Miss Witherington, and the least that you can do is realize that I am not the enemy.”

“Nor is a goaler,” she said. “But he still holds the keys.”

“You are…” He clicked his tongue as he tried to temper his anger. How had he been so wrong about her? She had appeared so helpless, so utterly lost. Certainly not the firebrand she was turning out to be. “I know that you believe you have options.” He spoke slowly and carefully. “But the simple fact is that you do not.”

“I do⁠—”

“I am the one with options here,” he cut her off. “I came to you, hoping that we might reach an agreement. That you might see what I have done as a mercy, and act accordingly. But now, I see you for what you are.”

“And what is that?”

“A brat,” he snapped. “Spoiled. And before you say anything else, before you make your threats, know that I am this close to changing my mind. Pretend that is what you want, but we both know what will happen to you after is far worse.”

“So, what then? I should just obey you?” She shook her head, her chin wobbling. “I have done that my entire life, and this is what it has given me.”

“Better that than the alternative.”

“I am not so sure.”

Despite trembling and the obvious fear in her eyes, Miss Witherington stood her ground in a way that Caspian could not believe. Face set. Jaw clenched. She scowled at him, daring him to follow through on his threat.

Caspian scowled back. Angry, yes. Tired and frustrated, of course. But there was something else there… something he could not quite explain. Not used to being spoken to this way, and certainly not expecting it from one so beautiful. His pulse quickened, but not with anger.

And when his eyes flicked downwards, across her chest, toward her body, his pulse quickened further. On instinct, unable to control himself, Caspian reached for her. He could not say what he meant to do, only that he felt a sudden desire to touch her… to feel her on his fingers.

“Caspian!” the cry came from beyond the closed door, cutting through the moment, and just in time. “Where is he?”

“Who is that?” Miss Witherington asked.

Caspian snatched back his hand just in time.

He had hoped to have this sorted before his cousin arrived, but now that she was there, he wondered what he was going to say. As he wondered what she was going to say to him.

“That…” He groaned and let his shoulders drop. “That is my dear cousin.”

Chapter Four

The small antechamber’s door swung open suddenly, and a woman burst in—though Arabella did not recognize her, she knew instantly who it was.

She was older than the Duke, closer to fifty by Arabella’s guess. Tall like him, with proud, sharp features that gave her a no-nonsense look. Dark hair that was graying. A slight hunch that did not diminish her presence. And dark blue eyes—fiercely intelligent and commanding—which immediately told Arabella that this woman was not one to be spoken down to or bullied.

Indeed, even the Duke stepped back as she entered. When Arabella’s father hurried in behind her, Arabella noticed he kept his distance, continuously glancing at the woman with worry, as if she had already put him in his place, and he wanted to avoid it happening again.

I rather like this woman…

“There you are!” The Dowager turned on the Duke and put her hands on her hips. “What is going on here?”

“Cousin, it is lovely of you to join us,” the Duke said plainly.

“Do not cousin me,” she snapped. “There I was, enjoying the party which I had spent weeks organizing, only for this one…” She pointed at Arabella’s father, who winced. “To appear as if from nowhere, informing me that my dear cousin had become engaged.”

“Ah, so you received my message.”

“Impossible, I said,” she continued, hands still on her hips. “I saw my cousin less than an hour ago, at which time we had a rather enlightening conversation.” She widened her eyes at him. “As I came to understand it, the idea of marriage was such a horrific concept to you that I might do better squeezing blood from a stone rather than convincing you of its worth.”

“But you did convince me,” the Duke said with what had to be humor, even if it did not sound as if he was joking.

Her expression was stone. “So, it is true?”

“It is.”

“And how did this happen, exactly? How did you go from harboring a complete rejection of the concept to becoming betrothed? I feel as if I am losing my mind, Caspian!”

“I can answer that.” Arabella’s father stepped forward. “My poor daughter was left at the altar in a state of disgrace, and His Grace, seeing a lady in need was kind enough to⁠—”

“I was not speaking to you,” the Dowager snapped at Arabella’s father.

Arabella’s father cowered back at once.

Arabella watched the interaction with a thrill that burned hot. Having grown up under her father’s strict control, having no powerful women in her life, it was oddly satisfying to see him so thoroughly beaten by little more than a sharp tone.

How can I become like her?

Even the Duke, as assured and confident a man as Arabella had ever met, was nowhere near as dominating in the face of his cousin’s tirade. If anything, he looked properly chastised, almost embarrassed to find himself in such a situation.

“It was not something that I planned, Penelope,” he said with a deep sigh, his expression softening, even pleading. “You know well how I do not wish to wed… just as you know why I must.”

“So, what? You thought to marry the first lady you came across?”

“Of course not,” he said. “As Lord Witherington was just saying, his daughter had been left at the altar, desperate and facing a life of scandal for reasons that were not her fault. I did not…” His eyes flicked toward Arabella, considering her, before looking away. “I thought to do the right thing.” He drew himself up. “I thought to help because she needed it, and sometimes that is reason enough.”

The Dowager leaned back as if she had been slapped. “Help? You or her?”

“Why not both?” he said. “And rather than working yourself into a state of delirium, perhaps you should see this for what it is. A good thing, Penelope. For everyone.” He looked at his cousin then, something passing behind his eyes that Arabella did not understand.

“Yes, well, we shall see…” the Dowager said with a click of her tongue, which had the Duke looking even more unsure.

Arabella did not expect it, but she suddenly felt a pang of guilt in her chest for how she had spoken to the Duke.

It was so unlike her! At two-and-twenty, Arabella had spent her entire life being pushed around and controlled by her father. She had no agency. She had no voice. She certainly did not have freedom to decide what she wanted and how she wanted it. Such a way of living was completely beyond her realm of understanding.

So, when the Duke had come to her, Arabella saw a chance she could not afford to miss. What she was supposed to do was simply ask him what he wanted from her, while making it clear that she did not want to find herself in another situation similar to the one she had grown up in.

What had happened instead of that…

In truth, I am not even sure how I managed to speak that way to him.

Looking at the Duke now, Arabella had a feeling why she was able to stand up to him, as she had. He was obviously intimidating. He was clearly someone to be feared and respected. But he had also stood up for her, saved her, and shown her that her father was not nearly the all-powerful menace she had always believed.

That gave her confidence. The Duke… He gave her confidence and a way out of her old life. And how had she repaid him? Arabella grimaced with shame, wishing she had been a tad more tactful.

“We shall see,” the Duke said as he stepped around his cousin and made toward Arabella. Arabella’s eyes widened, worry taking her, certain the Duke was going to put her in her place.

In the end, he did no such thing.

He moved beside her and rested a hand on the small of her back. It was a gentle touch, but it felt unexpectedly comforting, even warm and inviting. Once more, it reminded Arabella why she felt the way she did around him—that he was not someone to hate or fear. He had saved her.

So, as he stood with her, she looked up and smiled, wanting him to see that she was truly grateful. Also, she took some pleasure in seeing her father glaring.

“Penelope, I would like for you to meet Miss Witherington, my betrothed.”

Arabella offered her smile to the Dowager, even as her chest tightened. The Dowager approached her, flicking her dark eyes over Arabella in assessment. And while Arabella felt a pang of worry, with the Duke there, she knew there was no need. Despite everything, she was sure that he would protect her.

“Miss Witherington, is it?” the Dowager asked cooly.

“Y—yes,” she stammered, doing her best to look confident and brave. “It is lovely to meet you.”

“Tell me, Miss Witherington…” A final roaming of her eyes and then she held them on Arabella’s face. “Do you play whist?”

Arabella blinked, caught completely by surprise at the question. “I… whist?”

“The card game,” she said simply. “Do you play?”

“I do…” She glanced at her father, who appeared just as confused as she was. “My father taught me, in fact. I am rather good. Even better than he.” She smirked at her father, which saw his face color red as if in anger.

“Good,” the Dowager said, and just like that, the coldness of her posturing and the coolness of her purposeful stare melted away. In their place was a warm smile, a complete transformation from the woman who had stormed into the room moments earlier. “Timothy will be delighted. I know the game is his favorite.”

“Timothy?” Arabella frowned. “Who is⁠—”

“I suppose there is nothing I can do to change your mind,” the Dowager cut him off as she turned and swept toward the door. “Not that I would, mind you.” She reached the open door, turned, and shook her head. But she laughed too, a smile taking her face. “As absurd as this day has turned out to be, I do wonder if you are correct in your assumption, Caspian.”

He snorted. “Admitting such a thing was surely a trial for you.”

“I am not as stubborn as that,” the Dowager said. “I can see reason when it stares me in the face, and this marriage…” She nodded her head. “Yes, I think it will do nicely.”

“Speaking of which!” Arabella’s father stepped forward again. “We ought to discuss the particulars. Dates. Locations. Who to invite. Not to mentions the cost.”

“Oh, will you stop your posturing?” the Dowager sighed. “It is decided, so there is no need to beat your chest as if you have anything to add.”

“How dare you!”

“Save it for someone who cares for your opinion,” the Dowager scoffed.

Beside her, Arabella heard the Duke chuckle. She looked up, frowned, and he rolled his eyes. It was a small thing, but it told Arabella that he was not nearly so commanding and controlling as he first appeared. And that he was willing to be spoken to that way by his cousin, a woman… I will need to speak to him again, to apologize, and hopefully show him that I am not nearly as ungrateful as he probably assumes.

They stood together, his hand still on her back, and Arabella felt more confident, more at peace, and more certain of her future than she ever had before.

“Caspian!” The Dowager was once again addressing the Duke. “Are you organizing the marriage license?”

“I hope to have it arranged in a few days,” he said.

“Perfect,” she said. “The ceremony will happen here, I think…” She looked around the room. “That way, the breakfast can be hosted at my estate.”

“Now, just one moment!” Arabella’s father spoke up again. “I ought to be the one who⁠—”

“Until then, what do you say we take a trip?” the Dowager said over Arabella’s father. “No doubt, Miss Witherington is curious about the man she will one day call her husband. And you must be curious about her.”

“What are you suggesting?” the Duke asked.

“Timothy has been sent to Glastonbury with Miss White,” she said.

“Oh good, you found him,” the Duke said with a sigh.

The Dowager smirked as if with amusement. “He was hiding in the morning room, but yes, we found him.”

The Duke chuckled at that.

“Now that Timothy is on his way home,” the Dowager continued. “I would think that you might wish to introduce them before the big day. And as the day is still young, why not now? Miss Witherington ought to see her new home, as she ought to understand what she is getting herself into.”

“Timothy?” Arabella asked again. “Who is Timothy?”

“Oh dear,” the Dowager said. “You did not tell her?”

“She will learn in time.” The Duke stepped forward and turned. “Miss Witherington, if you will follow me. My cousin will escort us, meaning that…” He glared at Arabella’s father. “You are done here.”

Her father steamed. “This is highly absurd! I have every right⁠—”

“To keep your mouth shut,” the Duke snarled. “Miss Witherington, follow me.” He glared one more time at Arabella’s father and then strode from the room.

“Come, dear,” the Dowager said to her with a warm smile. “Let us get this started. No reason to wait around.”

Arabella hesitated. She thought of checking with her father, to ask if she was allowed to follow the Duke. Only, she realized with a thrill, that she no longer had to. She was not his to control, she was not his to push around, and the look on his face when he came to realize this… Perhaps this marriage will not be nearly so bad as I thought.

With that, she walked out of the small room, right past her father, stepping into a new life she did not know and was not sure what to expect. One thing was certain, though: it could not possibly be worse than the life she had left behind.

Chapter Five

The carriage ride to Glastonbury Manor was not as awkward as it could have been. That was only because of the Dowager’s presence. She sat beside the Duke, while Arabella sat across from them. Throughout the long, silent ride, the Dowager wore a knowing smirk as she looked between the two of them. She had something to say, or Arabella thought, but she refused to speak.

Rain pounded the windows, fogging them up so it was hard to see through. That made her focus inside the carriage. And while Arabella tried her best not to stare at her husband, she found it pretty difficult.

He carried himself with an air of purposeful authority. Not mean. Not dark. But powerful, commanding, the kind who expected things to go his way. Beyond that first impression, however, Arabella could not stop examining his face. Those sharp, perfect features, his full lips, and his gray eyes that carried a hint of sadness.

He never looked at her, and it seemed deliberate. No doubt, he was angry with her. No doubt, he was still deciding whether their marriage would continue.

As soon as she got the chance, Arabella would apologize. She would not bend, however. Nor would she submit. But she would try to find a middle ground. Anything to save her having to return to her father.

“Ah, here we are,” the Dowager spoke suddenly. “Go on, dear, take a peek. I know you are curious.” She gestured to the window.

Arabella smiled to herself, appreciative of the Dowager’s humor. Then she shuffled across the carriage seat and looked out the window, through the fog, eyes narrowed as she took in her first view of what would be her new home.

“What do you think?” the Dowager asked. “Be honest.”

“It is… big,” Arabella said, not knowing what else to say.

The Dowager chuckled. “Very apt.”

The manor emerged through the mist as if from a dream. It was an ancient home, almost a castle, but not cold looking or scary. It stood tall on a small hilltop, its walls covered in green vines, its large windows the type that would see its interior shine warm and welcoming on days when the sun allowed it.

Indeed, the sight of the manor instilled in Arabella a sense of hope. She had never seen it before, she had never thought to picture it, but as the carriage crept closer, she found that there was something comforting about the manor. A home that she did not know she needed but was suddenly grateful to have.

“Caspian, might you say something?” the Dowager prompted.

He frowned at her. “Such as?”

The Dowager rolled her eyes and looked apologetically at Arabella. “I wish I could say that he was not usually this moody, but that would be a lie.”

The Duke scowled at his cousin, and Arabella laughed softly.

Soon, the carriage was coming to a stop and Arabella’s nerves returned. It was easy to live in a state of disbelief on the journey there, but now that they had arrived, it all felt so real… Not to mention, inescapable.

Arabella found that her legs were shaking as she stepped down from the carriage. Even when the Duke offered her a hand, she struggled to find her footing. And while such a gesture might have appeared warm and comforting, he was awkward about it, as unsure as she appeared.

“I will leave the two of you to it,” the Dowager announced as they slowly approached the front door.

“What?” the Duke asked sharply. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, you do not want me getting in the way,” she sighed and waved him down. “I am sure there is so much for you to discuss. My company adds nothing.” She grinned at the notion. “Besides, I must be getting home. I have a party to attend.” Before the Duke could say anything else, the Dowager had climbed back in the carriage and closed the door. Then, it started back down the driveway in the direction they had come.

The Duke stiffened to see her go.

Arabella, on the other hand, felt a slight sense of relief. She had wanted to be alone with the Duke, needing to speak to him privately. And hopefully, once she did, his attitude might change. She needed it to, if only to make herself feel more confident about what was to come.

“Your Grace,” Arabella began cautiously as they approached the front door. She walked beside him, hurrying to keep pace. “There is something that I need to… That I would like to say.”

“What is it?” he asked as he pushed the door open.

“What we spoke about earlier…” she began. “The things I said to you. I wish for you to know that⁠—”

“Your Grace!” Arabella was cut off as they stepped into the foyer. “Welcome home!”

“Mrs. Robertson,” the Duke said kindly. “It is good to see you.”

Mrs. Roberston was a servant, or so Arabella assumed. She was elderly, short, and had a round face flushed bright pink. But her smile was generous, her black eyes were kind, and she had a presence that was warm and friendly, making Arabella feel immediately at ease.

“This is Mrs. Robertson,” the Duke said to her with a sweep of his hand. “If you require anything at all, she is who you will speak to about such things.”

“Oh, you flatter me, Your Grace,” Mrs. Roberston chortled. “And might I ask who this is?”

“Nice to meet you,” Arabella began. “My name is⁠—”

“Later,” the Duke cut her off. “For now, Mrs. Robertson, know that you will be seeing a lot more of Miss Witherington. I will explain the particulars at another time.”

Arabella scowled at the Duke. He was obviously still annoyed with her. Likely, he was having second thoughts about the whole thing. Also, she wondered if the way he behaved was his effort to prove that he was in charge. This was his home, and he wanted her to know it.

It is something that my father would do, were he in the same position.

“What about Timothy?” the Duke asked Mrs. Robertson. “Is he here?”

“Oh, he is somewhere,” Mrs. Robertson sighed. “I will send for him, but you know how that boy can be.”

The Duke chuckled at the comment. It caught Arabella by surprise, as she did not know that he was capable of such humor and warmth. Indeed, he even smiled, and that told Arabella that whoever Timothy was, that he was someone close to the Duke’s heart.

“Who is he?” she asked.

The Duke looked down at her, the smile dropped from his face, and he looked ahead. “This way.” He strode forward. “I shall give you a tour.”

Arabella glared daggers at the back of his head.

Again, she got the distinct impression that he was trying to put her in her place, and again, she was reminded that she needed to apologize for earlier. Although, seeing as he was behaving with such arrogance, she was not so sure that she wanted to do that anymore.

Where she had previously resigned herself to the benefits of this marriage, convinced she was doing the right thing, she now wondered if she had gotten ahead of herself.

Who is the true Duke? The one who helped me, or the one I am now forced to deal with?

“Might I speak to you for a moment?” she called as she fell in beside the Duke; his long strides forced short, hurried steps from her. “There is something I wish to say.”

“Such as?” he asked, looking ahead as if determined not to see her there.

“Earlier, when we spoke…” She had to quicken her pace. “I did not mean to come across as ungrateful. I know you are trying to help me, and I will always appreciate that.”

He said nothing as they walked.

“But you must understand that I have spent my entire life being controlled by my father, and all I want is to know that I am not destined for the same fate as that. I will do as I must to make this marriage work, but you must understand that I also desire my own freedoms. That I know I am not a prisoner to you.”

“You are not a prisoner,” he said, still not looking at her. “And this marriage will be perfectly agreeable, and you will have no reason to complain. As long as you do as you are told. I will not have you disobeying me at every turn just to prove that you can.”

“And I will not be told what to do, just so that you can prove that you are in control of me.”

He did not answer immediately. Looking ahead, they walked through large hallways, their pace still quick, and while Arabella knew that he had heard her, she wondered if he would simply ignore her comment. Again, an effort to establish his power over her.

“Well?” she pressed. “Did you⁠—”

“I heard you,” he said sharply. “As I have said already, you have no reason to worry, as long as you do not give me a reason to regret this marriage.”

“What does that mean?”

“Here we are.” He turned sharply through a vast doorway.

Arabella came to an abrupt halt, her anger boiling away because she could not say if that conversation had gone well or not. She felt that it had not and was still unable to shake the feeling that he was testing her.

She scowled, fumed, and had no choice but to follow her soon-to-be husband.

It was a library, where the Duke had led her. The largest that she had ever seen. For a moment, Arabella was able to forget her anger as she gaped wide-mouthed at the high ceilings, the walls that stretched endlessly, and the dozens of towering bookshelves that held what had to be thousands of books.

“This is…” She turned on the spot, still gaping. “I have never seen anything like it.”

“I thought that this would be a good place to start,” the Duke said from the center of the room. “Despite your concerns, you should know that I am as new to this arrangement as you are. I have no idea what to expect from it.”

She tore her gaze from the towering shelves and saw the Duke watching her. Hands clasped behind his back. Shoulders squared. His stance was confident, but his gray eyes revealed the truth to Arabella.

He was nervous, just as she was. He felt confused and uncertain. Hoping to seem in control, she finally realized that this was exactly what he was missing.

What was more, she had no doubt that he hated the fact.

“This is your home now, Miss Witherington,” he said to her, his tone almost gentle, as if he was trying to help calm her. “No doubt, the weeks ahead will be confusing, and I doubt that they will be easy. I do not intend to control you, nor do I intend to make you a prisoner. But you must realize that I have a way of doing things.”

“I just want to know where I stand,” she said with a desperate sigh. “That is all.”

“That will depend entirely on you.”

She was about to follow up on that. Getting a straight answer from the Duke was proving impossible. However, before she had the chance to question him, she heard movement coming from somewhere within the library.

“What was that?” She turned to find the source of the scampering feet. It was light, quick, darting between the aisles.

“What was what?” he asked her simply.

“It sounds like…” She listened closely, no longer able to hear footsteps. But then, she thought that she heard giggling; it echoed throughout the stacks and bounced off the high ceiling. “Is someone else here?”

“Besides myself, you mean?”

“It sounds like…” Slowly, she crept forward, toward the first row of shelves. The giggling stopped, the footsteps were gone, but she knew that she had not imagined it. “Is someone there?” she called out.

Behind her, she thought that she heard the Duke chuckle.

“Come out…” She stepped to the first row, peering her head down. “Whoever you are, come⁠—”

A loud crash came from right behind Arabella. She jumped in fright, screamed, and spun about to find… Well, to be honest, the very last thing that she expected. Especially in such a home as this!

The cause of the crash was a pile of books, pushed off a shelf and now splayed across the ground. But as to who pushed the books? He stood beside the Duke, grinning mischievously, so very proud of himself that he had managed to get such a reaction out of Arabella.

At first, Arabella thought that she must have been seeing things. There was just no way… what on earth have I gotten myself in to?

It was a child, no more than eight years old. He had hair the same color as Caspian’s, and eyes that were similar in color. But his face was round, he was skinny and short, and while he looked like he might have been Caspian’s son, there was something about him that belied that assumption. Even if Arabella could not say what that was.

“You look as if you have seen a ghost,” Caspian said simply.

“I…” Arabella blinked. “So, you see him too?”

Caspian rested a hand atop the child’s head. It was not done with warmth, and the child flinched, but did not pull away. “I am sure he did not mean to frighten you…” Caspian looked down at the boy, who continued to grin with mischief. “Although, perhaps that was his exact intent. Knowing this one.”

“Who is…” Arabella blinked through her confusion. “Forgive me, but I do not think I have ever been so confused. This child is yours?”

“In a fashion.”

“What does that mean?” she cried.

“His name is Timothy,” Caspian said as if that answered the question. “Timothy, I would like for you to meet Miss Witherington.”

Timothy scrunched his face, the mischief vanishing. He looked at Caspian again, as if seeking approval, and a nod from Caspian allowed the young boy to slowly creep closer. He was cautious but not scared, and those big eyes of his, wide and eager, showed intelligence in a way that suggested he was taking everything in, assessing it, and then deciding what to do with the information.

“Who are you?” Timothy asked as he took a step toward her. And then another. “I have not seen you before.”

“Nor I you,” Arabella said. She had little experience with children, so she did not know how to act. But she crouched forward, doing her best to appear friendly. “Timothy, was it?”

“My name has not changed in the last thirty seconds.”

“Timothy,” Caspian said sharply. “Behave yourself.”

Timothy flashed his eyes with menace at the Duke before turning back to Arabella. Once he did, that menace vanished, replaced again by caution. “What are you doing here? Who are you?” he asked again.

Arabella did not know how to answer that. So, she looked at Caspian for help, but he offered none. Rather, he watched as if this were a test, and he wanted to see what Arabella would do.

“I am the woman you nearly gave a heart attack to just now,” she said with a smile.

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the best you are going to get,” she responded. “At least for now. I do not know you, so why would I share my secrets with you?”

Timothy appeared delighted by the response. “I have secrets too!”

“Oh?” she laughed. “And is it too soon to ask for them?”

His wicked grin returned. “You may try, but I will not give them.”

“Ah, so it is up to me to get them from you.” She pumped her eyebrows. “How fun.”

“Timothy, that will be all,” Caspian spoke up before Timothy had a chance to say anything else. He spun about, and Caspian raised an eyebrow at him. “Go and find Miss White; no doubt she is looking for you.”

“She will never find me.”

“Which is why you will find her.” He fixed the boy with a look that gave no room for argument. “Go. Quickly now.”

Timothy nodded his head. He turned and looked at Arabella one more time, then ducked down and hurried out of the library. It all happened quickly, in the blink of an eye, and Arabella suspected that was common for the young child.

“That was well done,” Caspian said, nodding his head as if impressed. “He is not good with new people, but he loves games, as he loves proving how much smarter he is than everyone. I suspect the two of you will get along rather well.”

“Get along?” Arabella cried. “What is going on? Who was that?”

The Duke frowned. “I told you, his name is Timothy.”

Her face dropped. Anger flared inside of her. He was playing with her, testing her patience. Worse, he seemed to be doing it on purpose!

“That is not…” She took a deep breath. “Is that the reason you have been so insistent on repeatedly reminding me that I must obey you at all costs? That you have…” She narrowed her eyes at him. “That you have a child, one whom it seems you want me to raise. That was not part of the deal.”

“I was not aware we had made a deal.”

“Nor will we. Not until you are honest with me.” She folded her arms and held her glare on him.

“Again, we return to the same point where we started. You, acting as if you have a choice. I suppose you do,” he scoffed. “Marry me or return to your father so that he may do as he wishes with you. Although, from what I saw of the man, that is not much of a choice at all.”

“So, it is threats now that you make.”

“Not a threat, just a statement of fact.”

Arabella held her glare, needing to appear as if she was not only angry, but seriously considering her position.

However, as frustrating as it was to admit, the Duke was right. If she did not agree to this marriage, it would fall to her father to decide her fate. And that, she was sure, was a destiny not worth pursuing.

But then what is? How will this marriage be any different?

“I just want to know what is expected of me,” she said, almost pleading. “That is all I have ever wanted. Is the child yours? Do you expect me to raise him? Is this whole thing…” She threw up her arms. “Is it all just so you might find a wife to look after your son?”

The Duke said nothing at first.

He studied her. No emotion on his face. No indication that he cared about her plight. He simply watched, curious in his stare, no doubt deciding what to say… and how much he was willing to give away.

“He is not my son,” he said finally. “Timothy is my sister’s child, but she and her husband passed away a year ago.”

“Oh…” Arabella blinked in surprise, and she felt a stab of guilt. “That is… I am… I did not know.”

“I have taken him in him as my own,” the Duke continued. “I have set out to raise him, promising him and my sister’s memory that I will do everything I can to give him the life he deserves. Unfortunately, Timothy is…” He smiled and shook his head. “He is rebellious, a bit rambunctious, and he has yet to fully come to terms with his parents’ death.”

“That is awful,” Arabella said, knowing a thing or two about losing a parent. “I cannot even imagine…”

“He is a good child,” Caspian said next, firmly. “And I believe that what he needs is that which I cannot give him.” His look was knowing. “A mother. Someone to help guide him, to provide warmth and love and…” He sighed. “Essentially, those things that I struggle with. I did not intend to trap you, Miss Witherington. Nor was this some trick.”

“Then why not tell me?”

“Because I wished to see how you would react.” He started toward her, taking slow, purposeful steps. And not once did he look away. “As I wished to see how he would react to you.”

“I know little about children.”

“That makes two of us.”

“A mother…” She laughed awkwardly, and she leaned back as the Duke reached her. “I doubt I will be any better at it than you.”

“Your main duty, if this marriage goes ahead, will be to act as a duchess should, as it will be to look after Timothy where I cannot.” Standing just a foot before her, the Duke’s expression was no longer hard, as it was no longer combative. For the first time, she saw him for who he was and realized what he wanted.

She met his gray eyes. She did not balk. She did not look away. And as their gazes held, she felt that same sense of safety and confidence she experienced several times when around this man she hardly knew. It was as if he gave her the power to feel secure.

Yes, he was a little cold. Yes, he was a little commanding. But he cared for his nephew, and despite everything else, he was just trying to do the right thing.

She needed to believe that.

“Does that mean…” She swallowed as her pulse quickened under his stare. “Does that mean I still have a choice?”

“You do,” he said. “But I suggest you make it quickly.”

It was a small gesture, but his willingness to give her a choice spoke volumes. She had never been offered one before. She had never been told her opinion mattered. That alone was enough to push back her doubts and fears… even if only a little.

It was the illusion of a choice that she was given, one that sounded as if she could do what she wanted, while the truth was far from that reality. She did not know the Duke, or anything about him, and words were one thing, but at the end of the day, this situation was one forced on her, and it was not nearly as freeing as she liked to believe.

She looked up at the Duke. Those eyes. The handsome face was both commanding and comforting. Her pulse kept racing. Her mind spun. It was crazy… It was absurd… And no matter how right it felt, it was intertwined with a sinister motive she could not shake.

“I will marry you,” she said. “I will help you to raise your nephew.”

“Good,” the Duke said, not smiling. “Then let us begin.”

Chapter Six

The following week passed in a blur.

As the Duke procured the special license that would see them both married, Arabella was sent back to her home, forced to spend the week with her father. She expected him to be angry with her. She expected him to be petty and cruel. What she was given instead was indifference.

At first, Arabella assumed that he was biding his time. She remembered how powerless he had seemed in the face of the Duke and the Dowager, how humiliated also, and she had no doubt that he blamed her for it. What was more, she figured that he would want to remind her that even though she was set to leave him, he still owned her.

Oddly, such behavior never occurred.

Her father avoided her. He hardly spoke to her when they were in the same room. And while she was certain that it was her imagination, it was almost as if he feared her.

Perhaps not me, but my husband-to-be.

While Arabella was still uncertain about her marriage and what was to become of it, she decided that the positives outweighed that sense of unknowing. And as the week stretched on and her father continued to avoid her, she found a sense of strength building inside that she had not known she was capable of feeling.

That was until the night before the wedding ceremony arrived.

She had just finished eating supper when her father’s steward asked her to see him in his study. It was the first time her father had sent for her all week, the first proper talk they would have, and she could not guess what he might want.

But Arabella was feeling confident. She knew that, come tomorrow, she would be free of his clutches once and for all. There was nothing more he could do to her, so she went to his study with that same feeling of bravery and confidence that had steadily built all week.

Typically, it lasted all of ten seconds because no sooner did she take a step inside of her father’s study than Arabella was reminded of the man who had raised her, why she feared him so, and why he would never fully release her from his grasp.

The study was dim; a single lantern sat on the edge of his desk, and her father leaned back so its light would not reach him. The room was cold as well, and she started trembling once the door closed. Through the darkness, her father’s glare felt as if he had reached out and wrapped a hand around her throat.

“So, tomorrow is the big day,” he said, his voice a low rumble like a storm building on the horizon.

“It is.” Arabella stood as tall as she could, trying desperately to shake off the fear that slowly built inside of her.

“Are you looking forward to it?”

“I am,” she said without hesitation. Even if she was still conflicted in her feelings, she needed her father to believe that she wanted it.

“I bet you are,” he scoffed. “Oh, I am sure that you are so pleased with how things have worked out for you. Who would have ever guessed? A duke, soon to be your husband. How quickly one’s fortunes change.”

“His Grace is… He is kind,” she said, her voice cracking. “And I believe he means well by me. I have no reason to think differently.”

“That is because you are a fool,” he snapped. “You believe he is saving you, that he is doing right by you. As you believe this makes him trustworthy. But know this…” He leaned forward so that the orange glow of the lantern found his twisted face. “The Duke is not as he says. You think I am someone to fear?” He laughed. “Just you wait.”

His warning was not unexpected, but that did not mean Arabella could ignore it completely. She knew so little of the Duke, aside from what she had seen herself. And while she now understood the real reason he had married her, it did not mean there were not other reasons she was not aware of.

“I…” She swallowed. “I have no reason to think that His Grace is anything but good. He helped me when he did not have to.”

“Helped you?” her father laughed further. “Oh yes, the victim. You were always rather talented at feeling sorry for yourself. And yet, you never did realize that I am the one who has suffered. That I…” He caught his words, clenched his jaw, and took a rattled breath. “You might be marrying the Duke, girl, but you are still my daughter.”

“I am aware,” she said with a sneer that she could not help.

Her father just laughed. “Perhaps he will be good to you. Perhaps you will be happy with him. Perhaps…” A shake of the head. “Regardless of what comes, you are to remember where you came from. As you are to remember all that I have done for you.”

Oh, how she wanted to tell her father exactly what she was thinking. How she wished to tell him that she hated him, that she could not wait to be free, and that the moment she was married, she would never think about him again.

However, she was still his daughter, still trapped by a lifetime of control and fear, and still struggled to see him as anything other than her master. He who had controlled and bullied her for as long as she could remember.

“I will not forget it,” she said, her stare cold so that she hoped he knew how she felt. “Believe me when I tell you that.”

He scoffed. “Good. That is why I wished to speak to you. Not to wish you well. Not to give you my blessings. But to remind you of your place.” He leaned further forward, folding his hands on the table. “You know as well as I do the current state of my fortune. How…” He grimaced. “How lacking it is.”

“It has been hard to forget.”

“It will not be forever,” he said sharply. “And now that you are set to marry a man of such wealth and prestige, I expect you to remember where you came from, and what I am owed.”

Arabella leaned back. “I… I do not understand…”

“I will be watching you, Arabella,” he said darkly. “I will be waiting. If you think that this marriage is some sort of freedom, think again. A time will come when you will repay me for all that I have done. And if you think to warn His Grace or…” He sneered. “Or if you think that he will protect you from me, think again. You are my daughter, and this marriage changes nothing.”

“Father, I… I do not know what you are saying.”

“I think that you do,” he said simply. “Just as I think that you know, deep down, that there is nothing you can do to stop me. I still own you, Arabella, and do not dare to think otherwise.”

It had been too good to be true. All week, the feigned belief that Arabella could change so much, and that her father might finally see it. In reality, he had been doing exactly what she expected from the beginning. Lying in wait… Planning, plotting, his sights forever set on how he could use her.

Again, she felt that sudden urge to stand up to him. Again, she tried to find that bravery she felt when she was in the Duke’s presence. But he was not there with her; she was just a little girl facing her father’s wrath, and there was little she could do to convince herself that his threats could be ignored.

I am not so brave… I am not so confident… I am certainly not free.

“You will see that I am right,” her father continued. “About the Duke and about this marriage. The Duke does not care for you, as I have always done. You may hate me, but I have never lied to you, girl. Remember that.”

Could it be true? Was her father right about the Duke? She could not believe it. She refused to. And yet, as hard as she tried to dismiss his words, she could not escape the fact that she did not know the Duke nearly as well as she wanted to.

“That will be all.” He waved her away. “Think on what I have said, Arabella. And remember, I will be watching, always.”

She turned and fled the study without another word.

Then, she hurried to her room, slammed the door closed, and collapsed against the wall as her body trembled and her breathing turned heavy and painful. The walls turned. The ceiling fell. The floor rose. And never had she felt so weak.

Her wedding was tomorrow. After that, she would become a duchess. But where she had truly believed that she would find freedom in her marriage, she could not escape the reality of her world and her past.

She was a fool, and she would never be free. And her father, as had been the case for as long as she could remember, always got what he wanted. Her marriage was not an escape, but a different type of prison, and her father still held the keys.

Chapter Seven

The wedding day arrived, and while Arabella had not known what to expect, she could say with certainty that it was not what she had imagined.

She woke up to the sound of rain lashing against the windows of her room. When she forced herself from bed and threw back the curtains, she sighed with dread to see that a storm had come in overnight. There were black clouds, torrential wind, and rain that fell so thick that she could hardly see further than a few feet.

The morning was spent getting ready.

She supposed that was expected, at least. She had maids to help her. They chatted merrily, smiling, acting as if the day were a special one. But the cheer was forced, the happiness was faked, and Arabella simply stood there as her outfit was selected, donned, and touched up so that she looked every inch the bride.

When she was ready, she stood before the mirror, taking herself in one last time. Her gown was green, the same one she had worn when the Duke saved her. Her auburn hair was styled in ringlets. Her makeup was minimal, while her cheeks were brushed with rouge to match her hair and the red jewelry she wore. Though she indeed looked beautiful, it was hard to feel any joy.

I am alone now, and I feel I will be for some time to come.

All the while, her father’s warning echoed in her head. She had spent the week so convinced that today would be the start of something new, as if marriage to the Duke might bring her the type of freedom that she had so long desired. But that simply was not the case.

Never mind that she hardly knew her husband. Never mind that he had married her mainly so she could help raise his nephew. The fact was that she was alone in this; nobody cared about her beyond how she might be used. Worse still, there was no one she could talk to about it.

The rain fell heavily outside. The wind howled. And Arabella stood alone, helpless, and desperate to be saved once again. Only this time, she knew that such a thing would not happen. Her fate was sealed.

The ceremony was to take place in the same abbey where the Duke had found her the previous week. Not too far from her father’s estate. Once Arabella was ready, she rode with her father to its location.

He said nothing to her on the entire trip. No well wishes. No more warnings. But he watched her the entire time, a smirk on his lips, and a look in his eyes that reminded her of their conversation the previous night. Oh, how she wanted to stand up to him. How she wanted to appear brave and happy, to give the appearance of a woman reborn. But that look… She knew it well, and she wilted under it like a flower denied light.

The ceremony was meant to be a small affair, which was fine since Arabella had few friends and no one she particularly wanted to see there. The rain still poured heavily when the carriage came to a stop in the small glade, and her father cursed it as he stepped out and extended his hand to her.

“No surprises this time, Arabella,” he warned her, as if any of this was his fault. “Do not dare embarrass me.”

“I would not dream of it, Father,” she said meekly as she took his hand.

“Good.”

The interior of the abbey was plain and lacked decorations; nothing indicated that this was a wedding ceremony. There were two dozen guests seated along the pews, and not a single one smiled, beamed, or shed tears as Arabella entered.

She saw the Duke immediately.

He stood tall and proud at the altar. Dressed in a dark suit, hands folded in front of him, he did not smile when he saw her. He showed no sign of relief, nothing on his face to give her confidence. Instead, he looked resigned, almost bored, as if he just wanted this to end.

As Arabella started down the aisle, she watched the Duke closely. She searched his handsome face and looked for his gray eyes. While he had his reasons, she wished he would acknowledge her with a look that showed he was grateful and that she had nothing to fear.

But he turned as she started her approach, his expression hard, his mood apathetic and disinterested.

This is a good thing. This is the right thing. This is not a mistake.

Arabella repeated those words in her head as she walked toward the altar. At least, his presence was a good sign. When she saw the Dowager in the front row, she smiled at her, needing someone there to remind her this was not the end. But even the Dowager looked more resigned than happy, and Arabella’s heart sank.

“Sorry, we are late,” Arabella said in a whisper when she reached the altar and stood across from the Duke. “The weather…”

He frowned at the comment. “It is fine. Let us get this over with.”

She winced and looked away, aware of how distant his words felt. Then again, what else could she expect? She knew he was not marrying her for love or romance. She understood what he wanted. And since she was still trying to prove herself capable, there was a good chance he was just as uncertain about this marriage as she was.

So, the ceremony began, and its tone perfectly matched Arabella’s mood.

In truth, she hardly noticed it at all. She watched the ceremony unfold as if she were separate from her own body. Words were spoken. Agreements were made. The Duke stood stiff and silent the whole time. If there was romance, it was not present in that small abbey.

And then they were announced man and wife…

Arabella was brought back into the room as a silence settled over them. Breaths were held. Eyes widened. Suddenly, she began to shake, nerves overtaking her body. Slowly, she dared to lift her gaze and meet the Duke’s eyes.

He wore a frown. His jaw was set. She doubted that he meant to kiss her, but when that idea planted itself in her mind… Would he dare? Does he want to?

Her eyes flicked to his lips. Her breath caught in her throat. While there was nothing romantic about their marriage, she wondered for a brief moment if such a state of being might be found. If the Duke did kiss her, and if she kissed him back, might it break the spell of sorrow that she had been held in all day?

Would it prove that he might care about her?

The Duke took her by the hands. They were cold, stiff, and awkward. He did not grip her tightly, nor did he offer comfort. He neither smiled nor looked at her. And Arabella’s heart sank—the final confirmation of what this marriage was about to become.

Things moved quickly after that.

The Dowager was up and approaching them, kissing her cousin on the cheek and smiling as if this was the most wonderful day. The crowd gradually stood and moved forward, clapping and offering congratulations. But few singled out Arabella directly, and she felt like little more than a prop.

“I think it is time we return to my estate,” the Dowager announced so that all could hear. “Before this weather takes a turn for the worse. If that is even possible.”

By that point, the Duke had let go of Arabella’s hands and was already walking down the aisle. As he moved away, Arabella turned to see her father watching, and he could not have looked more proud.

“I hope you are happy, Arabella. His Grace certainly appears so.”

My father is either not seeing the same man that I am, or he is a little too pleased with how morbid the Duke’s expression is.

Happy was not the word that Arabella would use to describe how the Duke looked, which further highlighted to her the trap that she was slowly walking into. One that she could no longer escape.

It was done. Her fate was sealed, and Arabella knew for the first time without question that she had made a terrible mistake. Worse still, it was too late to do anything about it.

Glastonbury Manor looked different from when Arabella had last seen it. Back then, there had been a sense of hope that came with her effort to get a glimpse of the house. She did not know what to expect from her upcoming marriage, but she believed it could not be any worse than what she was leaving behind.

As the carriage neared the manor this time, it was difficult to see her new home as anything but the prison she was now sure it would be.

The time of day was late, as the breakfast had gone on longer than expected. Not because the Duke and she were having such a wonderful time, but because she got the distinct sense that he did not want to leave. He sat by her side, did his duty, but he did not talk to her, nor did he assure her that all would be well and that she had nothing to fear.

The manor sat in a state of impending darkness. The storm had passed, but the dark clouds still hung thick and heavy, leaving no light to be seen. It reared up on the small hill, its tall walls imposing and warning. Arabella’s stomach twisted, her body trembled, and she could do little more than stare as her face paled.

“It has been a long day.” They were the first words that the Duke had spoken to her all day. “Rest is what we both need, I think.”

“Rest?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“If you are hungry, I can have the staff make you something. All you need to do is ask.”

Arabella was not hungry; she was terrified. The Duke had already explained what this marriage was, but it offered her little real comfort. In fact, she was beginning to suspect she had been lied to.

After all, he had given her the appearance of choice. And that appearance had done much to give her confidence and a belief that she was making the right decision. For a time there, she had truly believed that the Duke meant right by her, that she could even trust him…

Now, he was so cold and so distant that she struggled to ignore her father’s warning: that the Duke was worse than he seemed, and that she had willingly fallen into his trap.

“I am not hungry…” She bowed her head pathetically. “But thank you.”

She sensed his eyes on her. She felt him watching her and was sure he saw how uncomfortable and uncertain she was. All it would take from him was a word of reassurance or comfort, anything to give her hope.

Typically, he gave her no such thing.

“Let us be about it, then.” The carriage came to a sudden stop, the doors opened, and he climbed out. Then, surprisingly, he turned and offered her his hand.

She looked at the hand as if unsure what to do with it. He cleared his throat, appearing irritated. Slowly and carefully, she took his hand, and he helped her down. Just like at the ceremony, his touch was cold, and it hardly made her believe he cared for her at all.

Worse still, as soon as she was down from the carriage, he let her go, turned, and walked toward the manor.

With no choice, she followed, forever being led about by men who had power over her.

She followed him inside the manor. It was dark inside. Empty and silent. Arabella looked around, confused. “Is Timothy not here?”

The Duke glanced at her, as if her comment confused him. “He is, but you will see him tomorrow.”

“Oh…”

“Are you… Are you looking forward to getting to know him better?”

“I promised that I would,” she said. “He seems like a bright child, and I am sure we will get along.”

It was subtle, but she could have sworn that she saw the Duke smile at that. In fact, now that she thought about it, the only time that he ever showed anything close to warmth was when speaking of Timothy.

“As I am sure you will.” He nodded once and then started toward the staircase. “This way.”

Arabella sighed, frustrated that he was acting so coldly, while having no idea if there was anything she could do about it. Or if she even should. Did he want a relationship? Did he want to get to know her? Or was his only concern his nephew?

She followed him in silence as they ascended the staircase. And that silence stretched as he led her down the twisting hallways. Each window they passed showed night approaching, and it was only when they came to a sudden stop that Arabella realized where they were.

Her eyes widened when she looked at the double doors, intricately carved, and she had no doubt what lay beyond.

Her heart began to race. She took a quick glance at her husband, trying to read his thoughts, but as always, he was impossible to understand.

Is he… Is this… Surely not?

While Arabella was new to the concept of married life, she knew one thing to be true above all the rest. Regardless of how the marriage came to pass, the night of the wedding was a most important event, and one that all brides feared and looked forward to in equal measure.

She had been so concerned about everything else that she had not given it any thought! Now that it had come, she was struck by a different type of fear… and dare she say, something else.

Her heart raced. She glanced at her husband and looked away. She felt him watching, and she could only wonder what was on his mind.

“These are your quarters,” he said to her, indicating the closed door. “I trust they will be to your liking.”

“I am sure they will be.”

“Again, if you need anything at all, send for either Mrs. Robertson or me. This is your home now, and what you wish for, you will have.”

“I understand…” She forced herself to look at him, not sure what her expression showed, as she was not sure what she felt.

But she looked past the coldness. She saw through the glower. And she focused on what she had first noticed about him last week. Handsome, yes. Powerful and commanding in ways that made her tremble. Also, there was that sense of safety—a belief that he had her best interests at heart—she had to believe it!

And then she thought of his words, his insistence that she do her duties as a duchess.

Is this what he meant?

Nothing was said for a moment. The silence stretched on. Arabella’s body trembled, and she pushed down her fear, not knowing what she would say when he pointed out the obvious, knowing that she would be unable to deny him. Stranger still, for the first time, that did not bring the fear that she expected.

“If there is nothing else, I will be going,” the Duke said suddenly.

“What? Where?” she blurted.

“To London,” he said simply. “I have business to attend.”

She blinked back her surprise. “Tonight?”

“That is correct.”

She was not so much angry as surprised. And while she should have felt relief, that was a mere whimper compared to the crushing reality that his intentions revealed. Did he even care about their marriage? Did he want anything else from this union? Clearly, he did not.

“You scheduled business on our wedding night?” she asked, unable to keep the harshness from her tone.

“Does that concern you?”

“No, it is strange,” she said. “I thought… Should we not…” Her cheeks colored pink, and she looked away.

The Duke observed her with a slight smirk on his lips. “This marriage is only for convenience, Arabella. I thought I made that clear.”

“You did.”

“Then what is the problem?”

So many things!

She did not even want to spend the night with him! What she wanted was a mere suggestion that the marriage which she had entered would not see her descend into a state of loneliness and despair. Even if she was free, what good was that if she was alone and unhappy?

Worse still, she knew that nothing she said would make a difference. The Duke had not saved her, as he claimed. He had simply captured her, carting her off to a new prison, and Arabella, the fool, had blindly followed along.

My father was right…

“There is no problem,” she said coldly, glaring at him, and wanting him to see it. “None at all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Would you care if there was?”

He looked at her, his brow furrowed. No doubt he saw her anger, and she wondered if she suspected the reason. “No, actually. I would not.”

“Good, because I am fine. In fact, I am happy that you are leaving. It will give me a night to myself. One of many to come, I am sure.”

He exhaled sharply from his nose, a flash of anger passing behind his eyes, smothered quickly so that he returned to his same detached self. “I will see you tomorrow, Arabella. And as I said, if you need anything⁠—”

“You will be the last person I ask,” she cut him off. “Seeing as you will not be here.”

“Good night,” he said sharply. “Sleep well. Hopefully, tomorrow, you will be in a better mood than this one.” With that said, the Duke stepped around her and strode down the hallway, not once looking back.

Arabella watched him go, glaring at him, letting her anger show so that she felt it burn hot and fiery and fierce.

Deep down, however, she knew that the anger she felt was not saved for the Duke. She wanted it to be that way because it would be easy.

Ultimately, and as hard as it was to admit, she was the one toward whom her anger was directed. She had been given a choice; she made it, and now she had to regret it.

Free, perhaps, but lonely, and with no sense that her husband or anyone cared. She admitted with a depressed groan and a growing pit in her stomach that such freedom was hardly worth the cost. Just as she knew that this marriage, whatever it might have been, was already over before it even began.

Chapter Eight

Caspian had spent most of his adult life alone. That was on purpose, done because he did not relish the idea of dragging some poor soul into the kind of life that someone like him could only offer. Was he as bad as he thought? No. Even Caspian knew that. But that did not mean there was not a chance he might become that.

Constantly, his mind returned to his father’s dire warning, that Caspian could pretend to be righteous and good, that he could act with honor and duty, but that at the end of the day, Caspian was his son, and that they were more alike than he dared to admit.

And to learn this as a truth… I would not wish that horror upon anyone.

It was because he spent his life alone that Caspian rarely had to think about anyone other than himself. He did as he pleased, when he pleased, and always he was sure to remind himself that this was for the best. When he drank, when he gambled, only he was the one to suffer the consequences, and that was how he liked it.

Cowardly, perhaps. But for all his fears that he might turn out like his father, the fact that Caspian was so careful not to let anyone else in was surely proof that he was different?

It was easy not to think about anyone else, which is why Caspian decided to go out on his wedding night. A precedent needed to be set, and what better way to do so than to remind his new wife that, although their lives were connected, they would live them separately?

And one day, when she realizes why, she will thank me…

So it was that Caspian found himself walking into the gentleman’s club, Boodle’s Club, shortly after leaving his wife in her bedroom. The journey was spent in a state of guilt, knowing he had done the wrong thing, while trying to convince himself otherwise.

What Caspian needed was a drink, some time to think, and some time to plan how he might approach this marriage so that it did not undo him completely. Also, while he was loath to admit it, so as not to ruin the woman whom he now called his wife.

Sadly, and as should have been expected, the club was rather busy, and among those masses of drunken patrons was Caspian’s best friend. The man saw Caspian as soon as he entered and was quick to push through the throng just as Caspian sat down in a corner.

“Well, this is a rather unexpected surprise!” George William Percy, the Marquess of Cavendish, was already well into his cups; his rosy cheeks and the slight slur to his voice were proof of that.

“For you or for me?” Caspian said as he slid into the chair.

George was often described as the life of the party. He was tall in stature. His hair was golden, his face was boyish, and his eyes sparkled as if he were seeing the world for the first time. Handsome too, of course, but that was not what defined him.

Why were the two men such good friends? It was a question that Caspian often wondered about. Their personalities could not have been more different, but perhaps that was the point. George was the one man whom Caspian could talk to about anything, and George was the one man who would never judge him for it.

“You know, I am angry with you.” George put his hands on his hips. “Perhaps even furious.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I am here,” he said. “And only because I was not invited to your wedding today, nor was I invited to the breakfast! And here I thought that you and I were friends, Caspian. Why, I have half a mind to turn around and walk away.”

Caspian rolled his eyes. “Do not let me stop you.”

“Ha!” George laughed. “If it were anyone else, I might have suspected as much. But you forget how well I know you—so well, in fact, that I am aware of exactly why my invitation never arrived.” He swayed slightly. “It was a wedding, yes, but one that was meant to be ignored… forgotten… treated as if it did not matter. Not inviting me was essentially a way of announcing that such vows were insignificant, not worth the fuss and scrutiny of our peers. Tell me I am wrong!”

Despite his mood, Caspian could not help but smile.

George was correct, of course, because Caspian was set on treating his marriage as nothing more than a business deal. Inviting friends to make it seem like more than it was would only spark hope, and such things were exactly what Caspian needed to avoid.

And while he told himself it was for his own benefit, to make things easier, deep down he knew too that he did it for Arabella.

“Perceptive as always,” Caspian said.

“I knew it.” George scoffed as he slid into the chair across from Caspian. “Truly, when I heard that you were getting married, I thought that a joke was being played on me! Not Caspian, I said. Not a man who has told me a million times that he will never wed. He hates the concept as the sun hates the night’s sky.”

“And I still do,” Caspian said. “Nothing has changed in that regard.”

“Says the man who was just married today. Speaking of which…” George looked around the bustling club. “What on earth are you doing here? Ought you not be at home with your wife?”

“That I am here is proof of my feelings,” Caspian said. “This is not a traditional marriage, George, nor do I intend to treat it as such. It is a marriage of convenience.”

“Convenient for whom?” George grinned across the table.

Caspian glared in warning. “It is for Timothy for whom I do this. The boy needs a mother, and it behooves me to do right by the child. Whether I want to or not.”

“A mother…” His friend blinked. “Be that as it may, who is she whom you now call your wife? I heard a name, but it was not one that you would have been acquainted with. Where did she come from? How did this happen?”

“Does it matter?” Caspian sighed. “It is done now, so let us leave the past where it is.”

“The past?” George snorted. “Coming from you? A man who lives his life as if the past controls his future? Very rich.”

“Careful now,” Caspian growled. “You know how my mood sours when my father is mentioned.”

“Just a comment.” George held his hands out in surrender. “I just wish to know what is going on.”

There was no point in trying to change the subject because when George had the bit between his teeth, he was like a bull charging down a red flag.

Besides, Caspian realized at that moment that he wanted to tell his friend what had happened. Still, he wrestled with his conscience, unsure if he had made the right decision, and unaware of what to do next. If his path was the right one, or if he was being hopelessly optimistic, as well as classically cynical.

With a deep sigh of regret, Caspian told his friend everything.

How he found Miss Witherington alone in a chapel. How her father had used the situation to try to force him to marry her. How Caspian had almost refused, only to realize that fate had intercepted and presented him with a chance that he ought to take while he could.

He chose to leave out the fact that he had felt sorry for Miss Witherington, how he had seen a woman trapped by her father, one who needed saving when no one else could step in for her. As far as his friend was concerned, the marriage was for one reason only: Timothy.

“And there you have it,” Caspian finished. “That is the full extent of it. The funny thing is, I had just earlier realized that I needed to marry anyhow, for Timothy’s sake. So, when the opportunity came along…” He shrugged. “I realized I would be a fool to refuse it.”

George watched him with a look of curiosity, as well as amusement. His blue eyes sparkled with humor, and then a delighted chuckle escaped his lips.

“That is quite the tale,” he said. “Although I suspect it is not all of it.”

“What do you mean?” Caspian stiffened.

“I have no doubt that you married for Timothy’s sake,” George agreed. “Where I become stuck is another part of the story…” He bit his tongue. “The fact is, you could have anyone you desire, Caspian. You are a duke! Yes, your reputation might be a little rotten, but there is not a father who would deny you the hand of his daughter.”

“Your point?”

“Why this one?” George demanded. “Yes, yes, you mentioned her father, the blackmail, the circumstance. But let us be real here, Caspian. I know you. I know how you think. Just as I know that a threat like that is just as likely to see you dig in your heels and refuse to be manipulated.”

“I was doing the right thing,” Caspian said through gritted teeth.

“Which is not like you at all,” George countered. “Has your whole life not been an effort to do the opposite of what is expected? And now, the moment you see a woman in need…” He trailed off, and his eyes took on a look of mischief. “Oh, now I see. Oh yes,” he giggled. “Now it all makes sense.”

“What?” Caspian demanded. “What makes sense?”

“Caspian…” George giggled again. “Why did you not just say so? You like this woman. I can see it.”

“Do not be absurd!”

“You do.” George folded his hands on the table and nodded firmly, sure to drop the humor from his tone. “You will deny it, you will refuse it, but I see it clearly. And truly, it is the only thing that makes sense.”

Caspian was sure to glare a warning of dismissal at his friend. He was sure to do everything within his power to present a look that refuted the claim. He needed to, not just so his friend would realize how ridiculous he sounded, but so that Caspian might accept such a refutation himself.

If only a simple look, a simple denial, was enough to bury my feelings and remove those thoughts that have persisted nonstop since the moment I entered that chapel.

There were many reasons that Caspian was having second thoughts about this marriage, determined to keep his wife at arm’s length as he had done. Yes, his father and his fear of what he might become were a part of it. But it was a small part, and not nearly as worrying as the one that had haunted him daily.

Even as he tried to push such images away… Arabella still found her way into his thoughts.

Caspian could still remember the first time he had seen her. The flaming red of her hair. Those big blue eyes, glistening with tears, but somehow still holding within them a quiet strength. She was trapped in a life she did not want; she was a prisoner to her father, but that did not make her weak or helpless. In fact, it was the complete opposite.

She wanted to be free; she took her chance when she saw it, and Caspian doubted that a marriage to her would be easy.

That, as much as anything, was why this marriage was so dangerous. Caspian could have married someone else, a subservient wife to do as she was told and not cause trouble. But he had chosen one who he was certain would push him, would test him, and would not allow him to do as he pleased.

Why on earth did I make such a decision? Am I really that foolish?

He knew why. As did George. Yes, there was honor. Yes, there was duty. Yes, there was that desire to do something good for a change! But that told only half the picture, and the other half was what terrified Caspian to his core.

Not that he would admit such a thing. Not that he intended to pursue those feelings that stirred. His course was clear: to keep his distance, let Arabella know he wanted nothing more from her than help with Timothy, and pray she did not test the limits of his control.

“Are you done?” Caspian snarled at his friend. “Or do you have more jokes to make?”

“Who said I am joking?” George pouted. “While you might think that I am taking pleasure in your discomfort, the complete opposite is true. Caspian…” His expression softened, and his tone turned pitiful. “I do only ever want the best for you, and while you might not see it, I believe this marriage is just that.”

“It is nothing,” Caspian snapped. “Simply convenience for Timothy.”

“Tell yourself as much,” his friend sighed. “I just pray that you are not nearly as stubborn as….” He laughed and shook his head. “As stubborn as I know you to be. In this instance, I pray that I do not know you nearly half as well as I claim.”

Chapter Nine

Arabella lay awake, unable to find the sleep that she so desperately craved, when she heard it. It was the sound of the front door to the manor opening and slamming closed just as quickly. Then, heavy footsteps, uneven and chaotic.

So, my husband is home.

She wished that she were asleep. Today had been her wedding day, and a worse day in recent memory, Arabella could not recall. To fall asleep and wake up tomorrow with this day behind her was what she needed more than anything. But then what? What would happen tomorrow? And the day after that? What was the point of wishing for what might happen next when she had no idea what that could possibly look like?

So, she lay staring at the ceiling, her mind racing, planning out her life as she saw it. Clearly, her husband wanted nothing to do with her, which she decided was a good thing. A marriage of convenience… Her convenience. She would make sure of it.

All Arabella wanted was the freedom to make her own choices, and the longer she lay awake, the more she realized she still had that chance. In fact, if her husband chose to avoid her, then perhaps that meant he would not try to stop her in whatever she ended up doing.

She would be alone, yes, but she would be free.

And that will have to do…

Only, as she listened to her husband’s footsteps clomping through the manor, she realized that they were approaching her room. Likely, his own quarters were further down the hall, nothing to worry about…

She lay perfectly still as those heavy footsteps started down the hallway. One by one, they came closer and closer to her bedroom door. Her heart started to race. Was that fear? It must be. She was not scared of her husband so much as she was scared of what tonight was meant to signify. And while he had implied that he did not expect such a thing, he had not said it outright.

Surely, he does not mean to… There is no way that he would…

But those footsteps came closer, and when they reached her bedroom door, they stopped.

Arabella held her breath, as if her husband might be able to hear her. She looked at the door, staring at it as if she could see through the timber. He was almost certainly standing on the other side, watching the closed door, but to what end? What did he want?

Her body trembled in fear, but there was something else. It was a strange sensation that slowly descended over Arabella as she watched the closed door, picturing her husband on the other side. Her heart raced. Her skin prickled. She found herself praying that he would move on, while also wondering what would happen if he did not.

Might he open the door and come inside? Might he take the liberties that any recently married man would expect? And might Arabella enjoy it…

No! He promised me a marriage of convenience. He would not dare!

The minutes dragged on. No sound came that suggested her husband had walked away. Arabella’s body was so hot that she threw back the covers. And the more time that passed by, the more irate she turned; the more annoyed she was. What was he doing?

Arabella had spent her life being told what to do by other men. She had no agency. She had no control over her world and what happened to her. And now, as she lay perfectly still and waited for her husband to make a decision, she knew that nothing had changed.

Is this what her life would be? Always wondering what her husband might do, and always knowing that his word was law? That thought sent a fire burning hot through her body, roaring to life so that anger found Arabella. Anger and a determination to finally put her foot down for once and take control of her life!

Really, it was about time that she did.

With that decision made, Arabella climbed from her bed and hurried across the room. She had the bit between her teeth, the fire inside her burning so hot she felt like she might explode. Because of that, she did not stop to consider if this was such a good idea. If she had, she might have taken a second to think about what she was wearing.

She wore just her nightgown, a white garment, the material thin, almost translucent against her body. Although she was hot, the night air was chilled, and she trembled just a little. Her hair was let down. No make-up on. Totally exposed…

Nonetheless, she reached the bedroom door, and before stopping to think about what she was doing, she threw it open.

“What are you—” Her words caught in her throat when she saw the Duke.

As expected, he stood on the other side of her door. Dressed as he had been for their ceremony, he stood in perfect darkness so that all she could make out was the gray of his eyes. He was a mountain before her, a wall that blocked her path, and where Arabella had felt so confident just moments ago, she felt that confidence vanish like a candle being blown out.

“You are awake,” he said as if confused. He stood just two feet away, and Arabella smelled the alcohol on his breath. “Why are you not sleeping?”

“I…” Her voice cracked as he loomed over her, and she had to fight the urge to slam the door closed. “I heard you come home.”

“You were waiting for me?” The question seemed to excite him, and she saw that excitement pass behind his eyes. Just as she saw those same eyes roam her body.

Arabella was suddenly made aware of what she was wearing. On instinct, she moved a hand to cover her chest, at which point the Duke snapped his eyes back up and found her face.

“I was not waiting for you…” Her voice cracked further. “I… I was trying to sleep, and I heard you.” Despite how she trembled, she fixed a scowl on her face. “What are you doing? Why are you standing outside my door?”

“This is my home,” he said. “I ought not have to explain myself to you.”

“As I ought not have to worry about strange men lurking outside my bedroom of a night.”

“Strange men?” The words seemed to upset him. “I am your husband.”

“In name, perhaps.” The surprise of the moment had gone, and Arabella drew herself up. “But that is all. As far as I am aware, you are practically a stranger. Which, from what I have gathered, is exactly how you want it.”

“You sound upset.”

“I am not,” she said, even if her words lacked conviction. “In fact, the more that I have thought about it, the more I have come to decide that I agree with you.”

“Agree with me?” As her eyes adjusted to the light, Arabella was able to better make out the Duke’s face. Even in the dark, the sharp lines of his perfect face were unmissable, and Arabella did her best not to notice them. Although the way her eyes lingered certainly did not help. “Agree with me in what way?”

“You have made it quite clear what this marriage is to be,” she said, focusing on his eyes. Another mistake, because they were alluring, the type that trapped once they had you in their hold. “One of convenience where you and I are little more than strangers.”

He grimaced and looked away. “That is not… I do not wish for you to loathe this marriage, Arabella. I would like for it to be…” He looked at her again, down at her, seeming to somehow stand even taller than he had been. “My intent was to rescue you from your father, so that you might have a better life here.”

“Which I will,” she said. “So long as you do not try to control me. Hence, us being strangers. I will have little to do with you, and you will have little to do with me. Is that not what you want?”

“No…” He spoke the word as if he had to force it. “That is not what I want.”

“Oh?” She blinked, surprised by his rejection. “Obviously, I will do what I can for Timothy, that is something you do not need to⁠—”

“I did not mean it like that.” His words became sharp, almost angry. Standing over her, his gray eyes again roamed her body, and she saw a hunger flash behind them.

Arabella caught her breath. She had been so determined to say her piece, to make her position known, that she had almost forgotten the reason this conversation was possible in the first place. It was her wedding night. Her husband had come to her room, and, though she knew little of such things, even she was not so ignorant as not to guess why.

The dynamic between them flipped suddenly.

Arabella shrank back, her confidence gone. The Duke stood taller and firmer, his gray eyes still fixed on her. A silence descended, trapping them in it. And while Arabella knew that she ought to have shut the door and be done with it, she could not bring herself to do so.

She wanted nothing to do with him. A life of her own, but the way he looked at her, the want evident in his eyes, common sense left her, replaced by a stirring in her stomach and a fire spreading across her thighs that she had never felt before.

What… What is that?

“You are…” He sucked through his teeth as if trying to control his anger. “You want freedom, but you would not know what to do with it if you had it. No, I do not think that freedom is what you truly crave.”

Her pulse raced. “That is not true.”

“It is,” he breathed. “You want control… You like to be told what to do. Admit it.”

She shook her head, but it was done weakly. “I want my own life.”

“And yet you married me.” He stepped forward quickly. She gasped, thought to hurry back, but found herself frozen to the spot. “I told you when we married that you must obey me. You heard the words, and you said nothing.”

“I…” Her voice cracked. “You said…”

“I did as I had to do; your father made sure of that.” Slowly, a hand moved to her face. She saw it coming, froze still, and his fingers lightly traced under her chin. “But now that we are wed, what I will not abide is this vague attempt to assert yourself. Not in my home. Not when you… Not when you are mine.”

She gasped. But as the Duke’s fingers stroked her under the chin, his touch was surprisingly gentle, and it sent sharp pulses through her body that were not nearly as bad as she might have thought.

There was a voice in her head screaming at her to stand up to the Duke. Is that what she wanted to do? All her life, she had been controlled, and she could not let it happen again. But the way he looked at her, the feelings it sent rushing through her body… Arabella could not deny how amazing it was… How right it felt.

He wanted to control her, an anathema to her being. But then why did it not sound so bad? Why did she suddenly want it?

What is going on with me?

The Duke smirked through the darkness when he saw the fight leave her. A deep chuckle came from his lips. And then his fingers pinched her chin, forcing her to look right at him, and she knew exactly what he was going to do. In that moment, he owned her completely, and she simply did not care.

“What…” Her voice cracked. “What are you doing?”

“What I should have done earlier,” he said.

Without another word, the Duke leaned forward and pulled Arabella toward him. Her eyes widened in shock, but she did not pull away. Rather, she let her face be guided; her mouth moistened, her lips puckered, and all sense of reason vanished as their lips met in a kiss.

The kiss felt like a fire had been lit on Arabella’s lips. One that raced through her mouth, down her throat, and wrapped around her heart. The Duke held her by the chin as his lips forced her mouth open, his tongue then diving inside. He licked, and he lapped, bit her lower lip, sucked it, then kissed her some more.

A moan escaped Arabella’s mouth that she had not meant but could not control. Her heart thumped so loudly that she was sure he heard it. She had never kissed anyone before; she did not know what she was doing, but that did not stop her.

Slowly, Arabella relaxed. She gave herself into the kiss. The taste of her husband’s lips. The feel of his tongue. The way it excited her body, making her tremble all over.

Why had she been so afraid of this? Why was she so determined to be alone? If this was what married life was like, maybe it would not be such a bad…

Taken completely by the passion of the kiss, Arabella moved her hands to the Duke’s waist, trying to pull him in closer to her body.

“No!” Suddenly, the Duke pulled back. Arabella gasped in surprise, lurched forward, and nearly stumbled when he let her go and turned away. “I will not…” he hissed at himself, shame erupting from his body.

“What?” she asked. “What happened…”

He continued to look away from her. “There is an irony here, Arabella. I speak of control and yet…” He shook his head. “Go to bed, wife. The hour is late.”

She gasped as if something had been torn from her suddenly; she could still feel her lips burning where he had kissed her. “What? Why are you… You came to me!” Why was she suddenly angry? Why did she want this?

“I should not have done this. You are right, I do not want to control you, nor do I wish to force you to do anything that you do not wish to do. I was wrong to have come here.”

She did not know what to say. She ought to have been thrilled! Vindicated, even! But there was something about the way the Duke shrank back, how ashamed he appeared, that she could not ignore. She did not fully understand it, but she knew it had everything to do with what had almost happened.

“One day, perhaps.” He spoke more to himself than to her. “But only when you want it, and when I can control myself. I need to…” He groaned as if in pain. “I need to do better.”

“What are you talking about?”

He did not answer. Instead, he turned and stormed down the hallway. And there Arabella stood, utterly confused, completely lost, no idea what had just happened or why. In some ways, it felt like a victory, as if she had proven to the Duke that he did not own her. But then again, that was not completely true either.

When she did finally return to bed, her body still hot, still trembling, Arabella could not escape the feeling that she had just lost something. Just as she knew that she was not nearly so desperate for freedom and independence as she claimed to believe. Whatever this marriage was, it was not what she had expected, and she could not decide if that was a good or bad thing.

And all the while, her lips burned where the Duke had kissed her, and that burning sensation stayed with her long after she fell asleep.

Chapter Ten

Arabella was just about to make her way to the breakfast room when Mrs. Robertson found her. It was later than Arabella usually ate, but she had slept in after everything that happened, and even when she finally woke, it took her a while to drag herself out of bed.

She had expected a maid to come and tend to her. Although she did not have such a thing at her own home, she knew a little of what a duchess might expect, and she lay in bed for well over an hour in anticipation of finally being woken up and told that her breakfast was waiting.

When such an eventuality did not occur, Arabella decided there had to be a reason for this. Had the Duke expressly asked that she be left alone? Was he so determined to remind her of her place, to rely on him and him alone, that he had gone out of his way to cut her off from the staff? Surely not.

That hour was spent thinking about the previous night. Still, Arabella could feel the Duke’s lips on her own, and it made her skin prickle and her legs shake if she dared to concentrate on it, which she did far more than she wanted to do.

It had only been a kiss, but all his talk of control implied that he intended to do more than that.

Now that she was alone again, and a night had passed since the incident, Arabella liked to believe that she would have denied him, as if she had that much self-control. But the more she thought about it, as well as how her body had responded, the more she was forced to admit that she was not that strong.

It is a good thing that he stopped himself….

The Duke had appeared angry with himself, too, as if he had failed somehow. That was something that she did not understand, and it only added another layer of confusion to what was already a most confusing situation.

Not knowing what to expect or what had happened, Arabella reaffirmed her decision from last night. Distance was what she needed from the Duke to treat him as a stranger. Only then might her life be her own. Which was what she wanted!

So, she spent the morning getting ready alone, then she left her room to find the breakfast room. However, the moment she stepped into the hallway, she came face-to-face with Mrs. Robertson.

“Good morning!” the elderly maid beamed. “I am so glad to see you awake, Your Grace.” She looked positively delighted.

“Oh, Mrs. Robertson.” Arabella blinked back her surprise, caught off guard by the woman’s positive attitude. “Good morning…”

“I do wish to apologize, Your Grace,” she continued merrily. “I meant to wake you earlier, to see you ready for the day, but I decided against it.” Her smile held. “It was not personal, of course. Heavens no!” she laughed. “But I was on my way to wake you, and I said to myself, ‘Mrs. Robertson, I am sure that the last thing she wants this morning is you disturbing her. After the night she had!’” She laughed again with delight. “So, I thought it prudent to let you sleep in on your first morning here. I hope you do not mind.”

“You…” Arabella frowned. “So, His Grace did not ask that I be left alone?”

“No, Your Grace, certainly not.”

Arabella breathed a small sigh of relief. It was such a silly thing, but she was pleased to see that he was not so petty. Then again, did that mean that he had not thought about her at all?

And why do I care? I should want that!

“In fact, if you have time later, I hope that we might discuss your morning routine and what you expect from us,” Mrs. Roberston continued. “If you wish to be woken with the sun, if you prefer to sleep in, and at what time you usually break your fast. This is your home now, Your Grace, and it is yours to command.”

“It is?” She blinked again.

“Of course,” Mrs. Robertson said with cheer. “Whatever you wish, however you wish it, just say the word.”

Arabella found herself smiling. While the Duke was a storm of sorrow and moroseness, Mrs. Robertson was the complete opposite. And while it was still so early, far too soon to know what to expect, Arabella felt a small flutter of relief erupt in her stomach.

She was in charge of her home, which was very unusual for her, but also exactly what she wanted.

“We can discuss such things later,” Arabella said. “For now, I am ravished. Might you show me to the breakfast room?”

“Certainly,” Mrs. Robertson said. “However, I must inform you that His Grace wishes to see you at once. He did not clarify if it was to be after you broke your fast, but based on what I know of him…” She continued to smile, but it was not quite as warm. “I would suggest not keeping him waiting.”

“He does?” Arabella swallowed. “Did he say what for?”

“Not to me,” she said. “Likely, he just wishes to make sure that you are settling in.”

That seemed unlikely. Arabella had decided she needed to stay away from the Duke at all costs, especially after what happened the night before. Given how it ended, she expected him to think the same way.

But why did he want to speak to her so soon? Her mind turned as she tried to fathom the reason. Perhaps he just wanted to check on her? Perhaps he wished to apologize? Or maybe, and most likely, he was set on doubling down on what he had told her last evening. That he wanted to ensure that Arabella knew her place.

To avoid him was right, smart, and how close Arabella came to ignoring his request to speak.

No… this is my home, and I need to start acting like it.

Arabella wanted her freedom, but that could not exist if she was too scared to speak to the one man who could give it to her. What sort of life would it be if she spent it in fear and hiding? Certainly not her own, and certainly not what she was promised.

Besides, seeing him again might be a good thing. Maybe, if she were able to assert herself as she needed to, she could finally put her confusion to bed and confirm with the Duke once and for all what she expected. She had to believe that she could.

“Lead the way,” she said to Mrs. Robertson as she brought herself up, took a calming breath, and braced for what she was certain would be a most awkward encounter.

One minute later, Arabella was stepping into the Duke’s study.

She knew the moment she did it that it would not be a repeat of the night before. The room was cold, and she started to shake as soon as she walked in. It was dark too, but not in an atmospheric way. The Duke sat behind his desk, his head bent over his work, and she sensed a guarded determination in him not to look at her—to act as if she did not exist.

“You… You sent for me?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“I did,” he said, still not looking up; whatever he worked on, it held his full attention. He let that statement sit between them, the scratching of his quill the only noise present. It was sharp, and Arabella winced as it cut through the parchment.

“Might I ask why?” she offered when he did not speak.

“I take it that Mrs. Robertson spoke to you this morning?” he said, still not looking.

“She did.”

“Good,” he said. “She will be your point of contact for all things. Whatever you need, you are to go to her directly. And if you need anything from me, seek her first, and she will pass your message along.”

Arabella frowned. She was not so much hurt by his cold detachment but surprised by it. After how he had behaved last night…

“Is that all?” she asked him, making her voice cold. “I spoke with Mrs. Robertson already, and she told me the same.”

“No, that is not all.” Another pause as he worked. She glared at him with anger that she did not expect but clung to anyway. “I will be leaving today for London.”

The statement took a moment to hit.

“Oh…”

“And I expect to be gone for a few days,” he continued. A final flourish of his quill, and he put it down. Only then did he finally look at her. He sat perfectly straight, no emotion on his face, and his gray eyes were empty as if he looked past her, rather than at her. “During which time, I expect you to become familiar with the running of this estate. This is your home now, and as the duchess, you will be tasked with its upkeep.”

“A few days?” Arabella’s frown increased. “Where are you going?”

“I told you, London.”

“What for?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Business, and that is all you need to know.”

“You are leaving me here?” The question came out accusatory.

“Is that a problem? As you so keenly observed, we are little more than strangers, and I sensed that you wanted such a thing. In fact, I was assured that you wanted your own life.”

Arabella could not explain why she felt such anger. She ought to have cried with relief, sung the Duke’s praises, and told him that he could stay away for as long as he wished. This was what she wanted! Not just to be left alone, but to be left in charge of the estate. Her own person… control of her own life.

I ought to be thrilled!

But her thoughts could not help but return to the previous evening. Even with how cold the study was, she felt that familiar burning rush across her body. She pictured the look in his eyes, saw their desire, and felt his kiss on her lips, so that they prickled with his taste.

Arabella was not so foolish as not to know what the Duke was doing. Whatever had happened between them, he was determined to see that it would not happen again. She doubted that he had business, just as she knew that he was running.

Disappointment washed over her, but she pushed it aside, determined to focus on the good in this news.

“It is not a problem,” she said with a slight sneer. “In fact, I suggest you stay away for as long as you need. I will be fine here on my own.”

“You will not be on your own,” he said. “While I am gone, I expect you to introduce yourself to Timothy, as I expect you to develop a relationship with him. That was, after all, why I married you. The only reason.” He let that final statement sit between them.

“Of course,” she said with a fake smile. “I will do as I promised, just as I am pleased to see that you are doing the same.”

“Did you expect anything else?”

“I guess not.”

They exchanged a silent glance, as if he were testing her, daring her to complain. Was he hoping she would ask him to stay? Arabella might have refused once, but after last evening…

“Is there anything else?” she asked, pushing that thought away.

“No.” He bent his head back over and picked up his quill. “That will be all.” And then, he went back to work, the scratching of his quill the only sound heard.

Arabella continued to glare as if she ought to be angry, but the Duke did not see it. So, she turned and left the study, careful not to slam the door closed.

Once she was alone, she ran through their conversation in her head. It was a good thing, she knew. It was what she wanted. Despite these assurances, Arabella could not escape the feeling that she had just lost something.

And all the while, the feel of the Duke’s lips as he kissed her with passion and unkept desire continued to make her skin prickle…

Chapter Eleven

Arabella ate her breakfast alone. As she did, she expected that such a state of being would become something she would grow used to.

Not that I am not used to it. Were things any better under my father?

She supposed that they were not, but that was the entire point.

Still, she struggled to comprehend how she felt about her husband’s actions. On the one hand, she ought to have been thrilled. Was he not giving her everything that she wanted? Her own life, freedom to do as she pleased, and total control of her fate? It was all she had ever dreamed!

On the other hand, she could not escape the feeling that she was missing out on something.

Putting aside how coldly the Duke had treated her just now… No, not the Duke. Calling him that gives him power over me. That ends now.

Putting aside how Caspian had treated her just now, and even since they met, she was so sure that there was more to him than he let her see. He had saved her, after all. And not because he had no choice, but because he had seen it as doing the right thing. She needed help; he offered it without pause, and in so doing, he proved he was a good person.

The smaller moments also plagued her. If he was so cold, so uncaring, why would he have assumed guardianship of his nephew and married her so that she could help raise him? That suggested that he did indeed care about others. And those few moments when he had dared to let his guard down, when he had looked at her as a husband ought to a wife, she had seen something else: not a desire to be left alone and ignored, but a desperate want to be seen and appreciated as all people surely did.

He is not as he appears… There is more to him than he lets on, I know it.

But then the question became, what was Arabella going to do about it? If anything.

She might have spent the whole morning on that thought, but as she ate alone, she caught sight of movement coming from the doorway of the breakfast room. She thought it was a trick of the light at first, but then it happened again.

Arabella looked up and frowned at the doorway. She listened, she watched, and then she smirked when she saw a small head peek out from around the corner, only to duck away quickly.

“I see you there,” she said lightly. “You are not very good at hiding.”

There was no response, but she did not hear footsteps hurrying away, which told her that Timothy had not moved; he still lurked in the waiting.

Arabella was still confused about the Duke—no, Caspian! But she could not deny that he was keeping his word. For that reason, it behooved her to do the same. He had married her for one purpose, and if she were ever to learn more about her husband so that she might know how to proceed with him, she needed to keep the promise she had made.

Also, maybe in this, I will not be nearly so lonely…

“Gosh, there is so much food,” Arabella said loudly. “I do not think I will be able to finish it all on my own. Whatever will I do…” She made sure to be looking right at the doorway.

Slowly, a little head poked around the corner. Just their eyes, and the moment that they saw her looking, they ducked back.

“I will have no choice but to throw it away,” Arabella said as if to herself. “I only wish there was someone here to share it with.”

Again, those eyes appeared, and this time, they did not vanish so quickly. They were so big and curious, but she could see the hesitancy within them. They watched her intently, a hint of mischief behind them too, waiting for her to do something else… Maybe an excuse to disappear again.

“Oh, what a lovely view.” Arabella turned in her seat and looked toward the window. It ran from the ceiling to the floor and offered a beautiful view of the back garden. “Perhaps I will spend the day outside.” She pushed back her chair and walked to the window, keeping her back to the doorway.

There she stood, pretending to look out the window, while turned just enough so that she could see out of the corner of her eyes. And sure enough, the moment that her back was turned, Timothy stepped into the room.

She smiled to herself as she noticed him creeping toward the table. She stayed perfectly still, careful not to make a sudden movement. She acted as if the view from the window had her full attention, and all the while, Timothy crept closer.

“Yes, I think a day spent in the gardens is what I want to do,” she said, as if to herself. “I only wish that I had someone to show me around.”

She heard her chair being pulled out, followed by the sound of her plate being pulled across the table. Still smiling, Arabella turned and was not at all surprised to find Timothy in her seat, hurriedly scoffing down the remainder of her breakfast.

Nothing was said at first.

Arabella simply watched the little boy eat. He was short for his age and skinny. Hair as black as Caspian’s, but with a round face and big cheeks that were colored pink. He shoveled eggs and toast into his mouth as if he were starving, but his eyes were wicked, as if he knew that he was doing something wrong.

“I suppose I will not be finishing my breakfast,” she said at last, remaining by the window.

He snapped his head around, frowned at her, and then went back to his plate. “You said that you were finished.”

“Oh, so you were listening at the doorway.” She pretended to be alarmed. “A thief and a sneak. I might have to keep a closer guard on my food and my tongue from now on.”

He grinned with menace as he ate the last bit of toast.

“I do wonder what your uncle will say when he learns what you have done,” she continued lightly. “I do not think he will be very pleased.”

The little boy’s eyes widened, and he looked at her as if pleading. “You… No. You said… I heard you!”

“But you did not ask,” she pointed out and clicked her tongue. “Sadly, I will have no choice but to tell your uncle. I do not want to, but you have left me no choice.”

He scowled at her. “You tricked me!”

“Did I?”

“Yes!”

She smirked at him. “Maybe I did. But that serves you right for watching me as I ate. Really, this is your fault. You ought to be better at hiding.”

“I am!” Timothy turned toward her, and his scowl became determined. “I… If I wanted it, you would not have seen me.”

She scoffed. “Doubtful. You lumber about like a blind puppy, so I doubt that you could hide anywhere that I would not find you.”

“I can!” He jumped up from the chair. “I am the best at hiding. Even Uncle Caspian cannot find me when I do not want him to.”

She rolled her eyes. “He likely lets you believe that. No…” A shake of the head. “I do not think you are nearly so clever as you believe. Sadly, you have left me no choice but to tell your uncle what you have done.”

He scrunched his face at her. “I could hide right now, and you would never find me.”

“That is not fair,” she said. “I have only been here one day. Although…” She pretended to look as if she had just come up with an idea. “To be honest, I do not really want to tell your uncle what you did. And do you know why?”

“Why…”

“Because he is scary,” she said, which made Timothy giggle. “In fact, I wonder if sometimes I might need a place to hide from him myself. Do you happen to know anywhere?”

“Yes!” His eyes widened with the thrill of her question. “So many places!”

“Can you show me?”

“Maybe…” He narrowed his eyes. “No. You will just tell Uncle Caspian. I do not trust you.”

“And you should not,” she said. “What you can trust, however, is that I will happily tell him right now what you did.” She put her hands on her hips and looked warningly at him. “That is, unless you help me.”

“I…” He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came.

“Let us call it a truce,” she said. “You show me your favorite and best hiding spot, and I will pretend that I did not catch you stealing my breakfast.”

Arabella was sure to keep her tone light throughout the conversation. She was never going to tell Caspian, of course, but she had needed a way to speak openly with Timothy. And as she sensed in him one who liked to cause trouble and mischief, she knew that her offer would appeal to him greatly.

Also, she liked to believe that he wanted to show her. As she was alone in this place, she felt that he must have been the same. He did not need a mother so much as a friend, and she would offer him that, hoping he would return it in kind.

“Deal!” Timothy cried, his excitement taking over. Then, without another word, he sprinted across the room.

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

He stopped at the doorway and looked at her with that same mischief that he wore like a second skin. “To show you my hiding place! Come on, hurry!”

Arabella laughed as she followed Timothy from the room.

He was a ball of excitement as he led her through the manor. It made Arabella smile and laugh because, for the first time, she felt as if she were not alone. Since the moment that she had walked through the doors of the manor, there had been a sense of isolation that hung in the air, a feeling that she might never truly be happy because the manor would not allow it.

But Timothy’s energy, his enthusiasm and excitement, quickly dissuaded her from that belief. He raced ahead, constantly turning to make sure she followed, and always he smiled, splitting his face in two.

“Where are you taking me?” she laughed as he led her up the stairs, down the hallway, and up another set of steps onto the third level.

“I told you!” He laughed as he raced down the hallway. “My hiding spot!”

“I think that you are tricking me,” she said as she followed close behind.

“I am not. Here!” He came to a sudden stop by a table that sat against the wall. He then looked at her with a wicked grin, his entire body trembling.

She frowned at the table. “Under there? That will not work! I will see you from down the hall. You tricked me.”

“No,” he giggled. “Not the table. Come.” He snatched her hand and pulled her toward it. “Look!” He pointed underneath the table at a ventilation grate built into the wall. “See!”

She studied the grate, biting into her lip. “What are you…”

“Here.” He let go of her hand and ducked under the table. Then he gently grabbed the edges of the grate and, without any effort, pulled it from the wall. It swung open, revealing a small crawl space behind it. “See!” He turned back, his eyes wide and eager. “I told you!”

“In there?”

He pumped his eyebrows and ducked into the crawl space.

Arabella hesitated. While she appreciated that he was showing her this most sacred space, she wondered if it was worth it. The crawl space was rather tight and undoubtedly dirty. What happened if she became stuck?

“Come on!” Timothy shouted from behind the walls.

“Fine.” She sighed, and with no choice, Arabella hoisted up her skirts, crouched beneath the table, and entered the crawl space.

It was bigger than she had imagined. As soon as she slipped her body inside, it opened to a space roughly four feet wide and another three feet tall. Not large enough to stand in, but she was able to fold her legs and sit comfortably.

There were cobwebs everywhere. Every layer was coated in dust. And the smell was musty and old. But Timothy crawled onto his knees and opened his arms wide to show off the space, and never had anyone looked so proud.

“What do you think?” he asked her.

She looked around them. “How often do you come here?”

“Not often,” he admitted sheepishly. “Only when I…” His brow furrowed, and he suddenly looked upset. “Only when I want to be alone.”

Arabella very nearly asked him why he wanted to be alone, but she shut her mouth quickly, thankful that she had the sense not to press the point. Although she knew little of Timothy’s circumstances, she knew that his parents had died within the last year, so she could only imagine how much such an awful situation affected him.

He was so bright, so excitable, so full of life! But it was a cover, a way for him to ignore the pain and the sadness, likely pretending that it did not exist. That was until it did.

Arabella’s heart broke just a little for the boy, and she wanted nothing more than to pull him into a tight hug and show him that she was there. But she refrained from that, as she knew they were not that close yet.

This right here was a good first step, but there were still so many left to take.

“I love it,” she said brightly. “This is…” She looked around the crawl space and nodded approvingly. “This will do perfectly.”

“You will not tell Uncle Caspian?”

“No,” she said. “This will be our little secret, I promise.”

The little boy beamed, and she laughed. She was still alone in this marriage, but her world had just grown that little bit larger. And if things continued in this way, then maybe her life here would not be nearly so bad as she had thought.

Chapter Twelve

Caspian’s lips kissed down Arabella’s neck like a starved animal. His hands pawed at her as if she were life itself, and to let her go would see death visit him. She lay on her back, happy for him to take full control, happy to give herself to him because he owned her in that moment.

“Oh… Caspian…” she breathed as his lips devoured her neck. “Touch me there…”

“Do not tell me what to do,” he growled as his lips moved to her collarbone.

She wrapped her legs around him. They were bare, she only just realized, and his hands squeezed them and pulled them in tighter. On top of her, Caspian moved his hips, trapping her beneath him so that she was utterly at his mercy.

And all the while, those lips moved further south.

Suddenly, Arabella was naked. Had she always been? It mattered not because she just saw Caspian travel further down her chest, his lips moving to her right breast. He took her nipple in his mouth. She cried out, he bit down, and she moaned.

“I think that you like it,” he chuckled as he moved to her left breast.

“I would tell you not to stop but…” She gasped as her left nipple went into his mouth. “I know how you hate being told what to do.”

Her hands ran through his thick hair. They scratched at his back. They grabbed anywhere that they could, because Arabella could not get enough! And all the while, Caspian’s lips moved further down to her belly, to just above her sex. He looked up, a wickedness in his eyes, and then he dove his head between her legs and⁠—

Arabella sat up in bed, her breath catching in her lungs, her body trembling as if she had just sprinted a mile. The sweat coating her skin also drenched the bed, soaking the sheets so much that the covers were wet through.

Breathing heavily, desperate to get herself under control, Arabella did not need to question the cause of what had happened to her. The dream was fresh, burned into her memory, so real and so vivid that she almost looked around her room as if expecting Caspian to be there with her.

Where did that come from, Arabella?

She shook her head and sank back into bed. She did her best to push the dream away, trying to act as if it had not happened. But the more she tried, the more vivid it became. Caspian on her… His lips over her body… And how good it felt when he dominated and completely owned her.

It had been just one day since Caspian left for London, and Arabella had hoped that not seeing him would allow her to forget. Out of sight, out of mind, and she might have been able to pretend that the small moment which had passed between them was exaggerated, and there was thus no need to worry about it.

One day… A single day and evening without having seen Caspian, and this was her reward? It felt more like a punishment!

As much as Arabella wanted to believe that she was happy to avoid Caspian and act as if he did not exist, the truth of her dream spoke volumes. And as she tried to fall back asleep, tossing and turning, all she was able to think of was whether he was having the same dreams about her.

When Arabella woke up the next morning, she decided upon two things.

The first was that she needed to do everything that she possibly could to remove Caspian from her mind. There would be no more thinking about him when she let her mind wander. There would certainly be no more dreams! She had to forget about him.

The second thing was a desire to do as she had promised herself, and as Caspian had asked her to do. She was the duchess of the estate now; it was her home, and it was time that she treated it as such. No longer would she rely on somebody else to tell her what to do and how to do it, and no longer would her life lack agency. Her life was her own, and it started with how she ran the estate.

Better still, she was quite sure that if she focused on the second thing, then it would help her forget about the first. That was the plan, anyway.

But how would she approach such a thing? Arabella had never been in charge before, so she truly did not know what to do or how one might do it. She was a fish on dry land, a new world presented to her, and survival was not guaranteed.

“Might I make a suggestion?” Mrs. Roberston said to her that morning, when Arabella told her what she was thinking.

“Please,” Arabella said, desperate for advice. Caspian had told her that if she needed anything at all, Mrs. Robertson was the one to speak with, so she took that advice to heart. “Anything you can offer, I will be so grateful.”

“You wish to assert yourself in this home, yes?” Mrs. Robertson said, always smiling. “To make it your own?”

“That is the goal.”

“Then why not start by meeting those who keep it from disorder and chaos? The staff, is my meaning. If you like, I can arrange for you to speak to each of them. They are the life and blood of the estate, and learning who each of them is, even if you know them from sight, will make a world of difference.”

“The staff…” Arabella nodded along as the idea took hold. “Yes, that is a wonderful idea, Mrs. Robertson. Let us start there.”

And so, the day was spent meeting every single member of staff in Glastonbury Manor. It did not matter what their job was, how unimportant they were in the grand scheme of things. If they worked at the estate, Arabella spoke to them.

“Claude?” she asked the head cook; he was in his mid-fifties, had hard features, and was missing at least two fingers. “How long have you worked for His Grace?”

“Five years now, Your Grace,” he said, his voice rough, as if he had just wallowed in gravel.

“And do you like working here?”

“Enough,” he said with a shrug.

“Oh.” She blinked. “Is there something that might be improved?”

“I…” Claude hesitated. “It is not my place to say, Your Grace. It is good work, and I have no cause for complaint.”

“Please,” she pressed on him gently. “If there is anything you need at all, tell me now. I mean to improve things, and I cannot do that if I do not know what is wrong.”

Claude looked at her as if searching for the lie. No doubt he thought she was trying to trick him; if he revealed something she did not appreciate, she would dismiss him. But Arabella was sure to smile, appearing perfectly innocent, determined to make him trust her.

“Well… It might be nice if there was another cook on hand,” he said carefully. “Only, there are times when I am run off my feet, is my meaning. One more cook, even an apprentice of sorts, would make all the difference. It would certainly make my life easier,” he finished with an awkward chuckle.

“That is quite reasonable,” she said. “I will see it done.”

“Truly?” He blinked in surprise.

“Yes,” she laughed. “I do not see why not? If it makes your job easier, does that not benefit everyone?”

“I suppose it does…” He narrowed his eyes, still unsure.

“I will speak to His Grace—no.” She stopped herself, furrowing her brow, taken by a sudden desire to put her foot down. “I do not need to speak to him. I will arrange it myself.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Claude said with exasperation. “You are too kind.”

She shrugged. “Just doing what I can.”

It felt good to help. It felt important. And as Arabella spoke to each member of the staff, she searched for small ways that she could show them, and herself, that she was in charge.

As she met the staff, she was also introduced to the young woman who would be her lady’s maid. Her name was Anna, she was just twenty, had only started working at the estate six months earlier, and was a bundle of nervous energy.

“I am so pleased to meet you… Your Grace,” she stammered helplessly, hardly able to look Arabella in the eyes.

“As I am you,” Arabella said. “There is no need to be so nervous.”

Her eyes were sharp blue, and they widened in fright. “I am so sorry! I did not mean it.”

“Nor is there a need to apologize,” Arabella laughed. “We are going to be seeing a lot of one another, Anna. So, we ought to be able to speak honestly, no? Perhaps we will even be friends.”

“Friends?” she said the word as if she did not know its meaning.

“Yes, friends,” Arabella said with a warm smile. “Mrs. Robertson has told me so many good things about you, I cannot wait to see the truth of them.”

As Anna seemed unsure about the concept of friendship, Arabella was just as unsure. She had no true friends, as sad as that was to say, and the idea of having one in her life excited her. Further proof that she was changing.

“Mrs. Robertson said that?” Anna’s smile was hesitant, but it reached her eyes, and Arabella saw the pride in them.

“Does that surprise you? I hope not.”

“No, Your Grace.” She shook her head vigorously. “I am… good at my job.” She nodded firmly. “I will do you proud.”

“I know you will.”

What pleased Arabella most of all was when Timothy joined her toward the end of the morning. He must have gotten word of what she was doing, and he eagerly stood by her side as she spoke to each staff member, acting as if he were in charge.

“We should dismiss someone,” he said to her at one point.

She laughed. “And why would we do that?”

“To show that we are serious!” he said as if it were a matter of fact. “So that they are scared of you.”

“But I do not want them scared of me,” she said to him. “I want them to like me. Believe me when I say that kindness works as a better motivator than fear.”

“You think so?” He did not look convinced.

“I know so,” she said to him. “If you can gain a person’s affection and their trust, they will do anything for you.”

“I never thought of it like that.”

She laughed and shook her head. “It is lucky then that I am here to teach you.”

Timothy introduced her next to Miss White, his governess. He was excited to do so, as if he were showing her off. Miss White was kindly, if not a little stern, with Timothy, but Arabella could see that the woman truly cared for him.

“Make sure you are kind to her, Timothy,” Arabella said once Miss White left them.

“I am kind!”

“Oh, really?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he grinned wickedly. “I sense that you rather enjoy testing her patience. And do not lie to me.”

“Maybe a little…”

“She is only doing her job,” Arabella sighed. “So why make life hard for her?”

“Because it is fun,” he exclaimed.

“But is it fun for her?” Arabella pointed out. “From now on, if you must make mischief, make it with me. I doubt that there is anything you can do that will upset me. Why, I almost dare you to try.”

That single promise excited Timothy more than anything.

It was a long day, but it was also rewarding.

Slowly, and so very surely, Arabella found that she was coming into her own. Oh, there was still so much work to do, but she no longer feared doing it. In fact, the idea of making more changes excited her.

She walked through the manor that afternoon, looking over each room, trying to determine whether any needed fixing. While Glastonbury Manor was not dreary and morose like some castles, it was still old, it was still a little dark and isolating, and she decided that some color, some life, was needed.

Is this what it means to be in charge? To make decisions? I rather like it.

She liked how the staff responded to her. She liked how Timothy was starting to trust her. She liked that when she walked those hallways that afternoon, the manor felt more like a home than she had thought possible. They were small steps in the right direction, but she knew that where they led was exactly where she wanted to go.

And better still, not once that day did she think about Caspian.

What she thought of often, however, was her father and the threat that he had made. Even as she came into her new role, her thoughts often returned to what he had said to her, and how he had said it. And while Arabella liked to believe that when that time came, she would have it in herself to deny him… Well, she had not come that far yet.

Even her husband, as much as she tried to avoid thinking about him, was not so far removed that she could forget him completely. He would probably return in the next day or two, but when he did, Arabella would be prepared. She had asserted herself in her new home and life, and she was confident that the next time she saw her husband, things would be different.

At least she hoped so…

Chapter Thirteen

Caspian watched Glastonbury Manor with a sense of unease and uncertainty that had steadily grown throughout the day. And dare he say… excitement?

It was late afternoon, and the sun was well into its journey toward the horizon, so the sky had turned from crisp blue to a wash of dark oranges and purples, with touches of black as night steadily approached. The manor sat perched on its hill as if watching the carriage in which Caspian rode, gently beckoning him to come closer; welcoming him home, as it was.

Caspian rarely thought about the feelings he experienced when he returned home from a trip. His home was simply a place where he lived, and given the terrible memories from his childhood that it held, there was no reason to look forward to going back, just as there was no reason to dread it. It was just a building, and that was all.

This time, it felt different, somehow. Was it his imagination, or did the manor look brighter? More welcoming? Had something changed?

Absurd, of course. Perhaps I am just tired and looking forward to being in my own bed… Yes, that would make perfect sense.

If anything, he ought to have felt great reservation at returning home. It had been three days since he left, for reasons he did not want to admit, but that were undeniable. The ‘work’ he had in London could have been done from home, but he chose to leave for the city because he knew it was the safer option.

Even now, days later, he could not believe what had happened between himself and his wife. He had not meant it. He had not wanted it. But coming home from the club, a few too many drinks in, something took over him. An animalistic desire burning hot and fierce, a sense of want and need, and that determination to prove that he was in control of himself.

Ironically, the exact opposite had been proven.

He could still feel Arabella’s lips. He could still feel the way her body had tensed and then relaxed. He could still feel that want in her, so that if he had not stopped, she would not have denied him.

Not that this was a good thing. Not even a little bit.

To further add to the irony, Caspian could not help but consider the reality of his situation. He had fled his own home to avoid being around his wife, one he could not stop thinking about, for all the wrong reasons. She had married him for freedom, but her marriage now felt like a trap from which Caspian could not escape.

She haunts me… She follows me everywhere. And try as I might, I cannot stop thinking about her.

So it was that Caspian’s arrival home came with mixed feelings. Unease. Uncertainty. A determination to control himself and to prove that he was the master of his own will. Also, and perhaps this was why the manor looked so welcoming, there was a sense of excitement because there was still that part of him that looked forward to seeing his wife.

What had Caspian gotten himself into? More to that point, what was he going to do about it? If only he knew.

“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” the footman asked as Caspian’s food was served to him.

Caspian very nearly told him yes, that all was well. It was right there, on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated.

He had arrived home just an hour ago. That hour was spent changing out of his traveling clothes, washing himself, and preparing for supper. More than once, he wondered what his wife was doing, just as he wondered if she was going to come and see him. He had been gone for three days, so such a thing was to be expected.

However, she did not, and he decided that was a good thing.

When Caspian made his way to the dining room for supper, he noticed without having to look that there was something different about the manor. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

Am I imagining things, or do the staff seem happier than usual?

Mrs. Robertson was usually bright and bubbly, but she seemed even brighter and bubblier. His personal valet had beamed when Caspian asked for a bath to be drawn. And even the footman who served him his supper appeared to be in a transcendent mood.

Caspian was not a grump, nor was he cruel, but he had become accustomed to a way of doing things, and the more he thought about it, the more he came to realize that things certainly felt different from when he had left. Perhaps it was a coincidence? But he felt that the reason was more obvious than that.

“Yes, actually.” Caspian turned in his chair to look at the footman. “Have you seen my wife this evening?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the footman said.

“Where is she?”

“I believe that she is taking her supper elsewhere. She did not specify to me where exactly, but she did mention that you might wish for some privacy after your trip.”

Caspian frowned as if annoyed.

He was used to eating alone. He wanted to eat alone. What was more, he did not want his wife’s company, nor did he want to suggest to anyone that he did. To ask that she join him would seem strange; it would send messages he had no desire to send, and he ought to have been thrilled that she was doing as he wanted.

The urge to demand that she join him rose within Caspian. He pictured her as he had been doing these last three days. How he had felt standing in her doorway. How desperate he had been to take her as he had sensed that she wanted.

No, control yourself! That is the exact opposite of what you want.

“What of Timothy?” Caspian pivoted.

“Master Timothy has already eaten, Your Grace.”

“Send for him,” Caspian said. “I have not seen him in days, and it will be nice to catch up.”

“At once, Your Grace.” The footman bowed and hurried from the room.

Caspian nodded firmly to himself, deciding that he had made the right decision. His relationship with Timothy was strained at the best of times, and he needed to fix it. No, not needed to… He wanted to fix it.

Caspian was not his father, nor would he ever be. To prove it, he needed to do what his father had never done with him, which was to build a relationship. Seemingly simple, but for Caspian, it was incredibly hard.

He waited patiently for Timothy, only for Mrs. Robertson to come hurrying into the dining room instead.

“Mrs. Robertson?” Caspian frowned. “Where is Timothy?”

“There is no need to be alarmed, Your Grace,” she began without her usual cheer. “But it seems that Master Timothy has…” She clicked her tongue. “We are unable to find him at present.”

Caspian groaned. “Of course you cannot.”

There was a brief moment when Caspian thought about being worried, but that was quickly dismissed because this was just like Timothy.

“I have the staff looking for him,” she hurried. “But you know how he is. When he gets into one of his moods, he likes nothing more than to vanish for a couple of hours. He will turn up soon.”

“One of his moods…” Caspian grimaced. “Brought on by my return, no doubt.”

“No, Your Grace!” Mrs. Roberston said. “That is not it at all.”

“There is no need to placate me, Mrs. Robertson,” Caspian said with a sigh. “I know that Timothy and I are not exactly close. Likely, he hoped that I would stay away for longer.”

“That is not true,” she said, albeit with little conviction. “He loves you, Your Grace.”

Caspian scoffed but said nothing.

It was a startling revelation, and a confirmation of what Caspian had always known. While he was never mean or cruel to Timothy, he was not exactly loving. But that was only because he did not know how to be. He had never been shown what love like that might look like, so he was lost at sea when it came to showcases of warmth and affection.

Timothy might have seen Caspian as a father figure. He might have understood that Caspian meant the best for him. But did he love him? Did he care about Caspian at all?

I am more like my father than I even realized…

It was a chilling thought, but that made it no less true.

The next thirty minutes stretched out as Caspian patiently waited for Timothy to be found. He did not touch his plate of food or sip his glass of wine. He simply sat and waited, his temper turning worse by the second.

“Where is that boy?” he snapped, more to himself than Mrs. Robertson.

“We are searching, Your Grace!” she assured him. “He must be somewhere.”

“Well, obviously, he is somewhere,” Caspian said sharply. “But where?”

It was another ten minutes later when the last person Caspian wanted to see that night appeared in the dining room.

She swept into the room with a level of confidence that Caspian did not expect. Her auburn hair was worn up. Her dress was a simple, comfortable garment, rather than elegant. Yet she walked proudly, a look about her as if she were right at home.

Stranger still, when she saw Caspian seated at the head of the table, she hardly paid him a glance. A quick look, no emotion on her face, save for the smile that grew when she found Mrs. Roberston.

“Mrs. Robertson,” she said brightly, speaking as if Caspian was not there. “You sent for me?”

Caspian frowned in surprise and a hint of annoyance. While he did not want his wife to be scared of him, he might have preferred if she paid him a little more attention. This was his home, after all, so it felt wrong that she acted as if he did not exist.

Really, it called his authority into question, and that hurt most of all.

“I did, Your Grace,” Mrs. Robertson said to Arabella. She went to her, and Arabella took the elderly maid by the hands. Caspian balked at the gesture, noticing immediately a sense of comfort between the two that he could not have possibly expected. “I am so sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Not at all,” Arabella said with a friendly smile. “As you have done so much for me, the least I can do is return the gesture.”

Mrs. Roberston laughed. “You are too kind.”

“Oh, you just bring out that side of me.”

Again, Caspian looked between the two women as if he did not understand what he was seeing. Mrs. Roberston had worked for Caspian for years; few knew him better than her, but even they did not have the level of companionship shown between the two women.

What is going on?

“It is Master Timothy,” Mrs. Roberston said. “It seems that he is missing.”

Arabella laughed. “Missing? Or in hiding?”

“Likely the latter,” Mrs. Roberston laughed along and shook her head. “You know how that child is.”

“I am starting to learn.”

“He must be somewhere in the manor,” Mrs. Robertson pressed. “But we have looked everywhere. In truth, we are starting to worry.”

“Excuse me.” Caspian cleared his throat. “I do hate to interrupt, but let us not waste time. Do you have any idea where Timothy might be hiding?”

He spoke with a sharpness that he did not intend. And while it might have been nice to have pretended that it was his concern for Timothy that caused it, he knew that jealousy was the true reason.

He was jealous of how at ease Arabella was with the staff. He was jealous of how quickly she had bonded with them. Most of all, he was jealous that he was not included in such familial ties. His fault, of course, but that was not the point.

Arabella turned and looked at him plainly. If his tone upset her, she did not show it. In fact, she hardly seemed affected by him at all. It had Caspian leaning back a little, forced onto the back foot. For three days, he was gone, and somehow, his authority had vanished entirely.

“He knows that you are looking for him?” she asked simply.

“Does that matter?”

“It does,” she said. “If he is indeed hiding from you, then it means that he does not wish to be found. Perhaps it is best to leave him be? Likely, he will come out when he is bored.”

It was good advice, and Caspian ought to have taken it.

However, he had felt out of sorts since his return to the manor. Things had changed, the people had changed, and his authority, the command he had in this house, had wilted because of it. It was petty and vindictive, but Caspian was taken by a sudden urge to assert himself and to remind his wife, especially, who was in charge.

“Ah, so your advice is to encourage his bad behavior?” he said to her.

Her lip twitched. “No, that is not what I said.”

“It was implied,” he spoke over her. “For too long, Timothy has been given free rein to do as he pleased, always without consequence. Did I not marry you so that you might help bring him under control?”

“That is not…” Arabella clenched her jaw, tempering her anger. “You asked that I develop a relationship with him, which I have done. If I reveal where he is hidden, it will destroy all the hard work I have made.”

“So, you know where he is hiding?”

Her eyes widened in realization. “No, I… I suspect where he might be. But that does not mean he is there. As I said, it is best to leave him be, and he will come out when he is ready. Please…” She looked pleadingly at him. “Trust me. Forcing him out will only make things worse.”

For the briefest of moments, Caspian considered relenting. The pleading look in his wife’s eyes and the fact that she was asking him permission were almost enough to persuade him. He did not want to cause her angst or upset her, or make things worse between them. Truly, he did not.

But that thought lasted only a moment.

Caspian was stubborn; he was determined to remind his wife who was in charge, and jealousy at seeing how close she had grown with the staff, not to mention Timothy, burned a rage through him that was destructive.

Oh, how proud my father would be of me…

“Tell me where he is,” Caspian said as he stared down Arabella. “Now.”

He saw the anger flare behind her big eyes. He saw the defiance. He saw her about to stand up to him and deny his order. But he held her in his warning stare, daring her to argue, almost wanting her to do so.

“There is a crawl space upstairs…” Arabella bowed her head. “On the third level, underneath a table. He is likely in there.”

“Good,” Caspian said as he stood up. “Now, let us go and collect him.” With that, he strode from the dining room.

“Please!” Arabella chased after him. “Do not tell him that I told you. He will never forgive me! Please!”

Caspian stormed ahead, determined to feel proud of himself for what he had accomplished. He had managed to assert his authority, proving to the staff and Arabella that he was in charge. That was what he had wanted!

And yet, when he reached the third floor, something came over him. The last thing he expected, and certainly the last thing that he wanted.

It was guilt. He stopped on the top floor, turning back to see Arabella following him. She looked utterly bereaved, a shell of the woman who had walked into the dining room just moments ago, and it stabbed through Caspian like a blade aimed for his heart.

He did not want to hurt her, and he definitely did not want to damage her relationship with Timothy. Most of all, what Caspian wanted the least was to be like his father. A marriage built on fear and hate, one in which he pushed his wife to the edge of sanity, even to the point of death. Avoiding marriage altogether might have been better, a sure way to prevent ending up in this situation. But that no longer mattered.

Caspian looked at his wife, really looked at her. She did not glare. She did not scowl. She pleaded silently, hopefully, willing to do what he said, while praying that he might change his mind.

He was not his father… He had to be better.

“I have changed my mind,” Caspian found himself saying as he turned away.

“You have?” Arabella perked up.

“You are correct,” he continued, unable to look at his wife. “To come between you and Timothy would be reductive and… and the opposite of why we married. I will leave you to find him, and to instruct him to come and see me at once.”

“Thank you,” she said with a sigh of relief. “I will. As I will tell him that he cannot hide when you ask for him. I will make sure he knows it.” She smiled, a subtle one, but bright enough that it lit up the room.

“Good,” he said, firming himself, trying his best not to smile with relief and pride. “I will be in my study. Good night.” With that, he stormed away.

Caspian had undoubtedly lost whatever point he was trying to make, and once that might have upset him. But as he walked away, he could still feel Arabella’s smile, the radiance of it, and how grateful she was for the small thing he had done.

She had changed so much in such a short time, proving that such changes were possible. And while Caspian told himself that he desired no such changes for himself, while he claimed to like things the way they were, he knew it was nowhere near that simple.

He was married now. He had come dangerously close to being just like his father. To disprove that, he knew he would need to change. He would have to become a better man, someone that even people like Arabella could come to respect.

I need to do better…

Chapter Fourteen

“Inever had a chance to thank you.” Arabella broke the silence that had sat with her and Caspian since they climbed into the carriage twenty minutes earlier. Her desire to do so had built steadily across that time, and more than once she considered saying nothing.

But as she tried to decide what to do, what to say, she knew too that things could not go on as they were.

It was two days ago that Caspian returned from his trip to London, during which they had spoken only once. That was when he had demanded that she tell him where Timothy was hiding, a petty request, as she had known exactly what he was doing and why. Oh, how angry she had been, as well as devastated, because she knew that there was nothing she could do.

Once again, she was back where she had started, a life that was not her own, told what to do and how to do it, by men who only wanted to control her. For a moment there, she had broken completely, cursing herself for daring to dream that things might be different.

But then Caspian surprised her. He changed his mind, proving something that she had not thought possible: that he was capable of change.

Now, two days later and without having said a word to one another, she realized that she needed to change, too. Their marriage might never be truly happy, but that did not mean it had to be miserable. If Caspian was willing to give her the freedom that she desired, then why could they not find a way to be companionable?

Surely, that is preferable to the loneliness that I know he feels? I certainly feel it.

And if that kiss they had shared was any indication, there was a good chance that he wanted more from this marriage, even if he refused to admit it.

“Thank me?” Caspian sat across from her in the carriage, throughout which he had stared out the window as if determined not to look at her. “For what?”

“For what you did the other night,” she said gently. “With Timothy. I know you wanted to reprimand him for hiding, but I think you made the right decision.”

“Oh.” His expression hardened in the darkness of the carriage. “I… I know he is not a bad child, so I saw no need to punish him.”

“It helped me quite a bit, too,” she continued, sure to smile just a little. “We have grown close these past few days, and if he knew that I had betrayed him…” She shook her head. “I am glad it did not come to that.”

“Good,” he said awkwardly, as if he did not know how to respond. “I wish for you to become close, and that you have managed such a thing…” He bit into his lip. “Hopefully, it continues.”

“What of you and him?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“It is one thing for Timothy and me to grow close, but a boy needs a father, just as he needs a mother. If you like, I can help…” She held her smile. “It might be nice if the three of us spend time together, yes? So that Timothy can see us as a family. Is that not what you want?”

His frown deepened. He looked confused. And while Arabella was certain that she was on the right path, she was just as certain that Caspian was not ready to walk it.

What happened to him that he is so resistant to being a good father? Why does he fight it so?

“Focus on your own relationship with the boy,” he said and turned away. “That is your role, the reason for this marriage.”

Arabella sighed and leaned back in her seat.

Caspian was determined to keep her at arm’s length, as he had told her from the beginning. But now that Arabella was growing with confidence, finding her place in her new home, she was not so sure that was a good thing.

That dream she had still haunted her, bringing mixed feelings. Beyond that dream, however, she felt a need to help Caspian as he had helped her. Like she had once been, he was trapped, also a prisoner of sorts. He just did not know it.

“If you ever change your mind, always feel free to say it,” she said. “I know how much Timothy would love to spend more time with you.”

Caspian said nothing as he stared out the window. But the moonlight caught his face, and Arabella was certain that she saw the barest hint of a smile.

Yes, he wants it. He is just not ready to admit it.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, but it was not nearly as awkward as it had been. Despite Caspian’s refusal to look at her, she caught him glancing periodically, as she saw his thoughts turning behind his eyes.

And when they did finally arrive at their destination, he was the one who spoke.

“We are here,” he said, taking note of the estate as it appeared in the distance. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?” she frowned. “What do you mean?”

He turned to look at her, but it was not harsh or commanding. It was almost apologetic, as if he was sorry for what he was about to say.

“This will be our first social outing together, Arabella, our first time seen together by our peers. While this marriage is not typical, we cannot allow it to look that way.” He swallowed. “We will need to behave as if we are… happy.”

She brightened. “Happy? Are you capable of such a thing?”

“Of course I am,” he said sharply, only to grimace. “I mean, yes, I am. But I want you to know that whatever I do and say once we are inside is for the benefit of our peers. Is that understood?”

She knew all of that, of course. Just as she agreed with it. But it did make her wonder now what she might expect from Caspian, especially as he felt a need to remind her of what they were to do. She had assumed that he would simply be kind to her, for once treating her as if she existed in his world.

But now… a warmth spread across her body, one that suggested excitement. Forced to act as if they were in love, forced to stand close, to touch one another, and Arabella wondered just how that would look and feel.

“I understand,” she said. “And I will do my best.”

The carriage came to a gentle stop a moment later. The driver opened the door. Caspian was quick to move, climbing from the carriage, at which point he turned and offered Arabella his hand.

She eyed the hand as if confused, almost nervous to take it. He raised an eyebrow at her, and Arabella’s pulse quickened. She knew he was just doing as he had to do, but that did not take away from the feelings that swarmed through her.

And when she took his hand, as their skin touched, a pulse erupted up her arm. For a moment, her mind returned to her dream… Caspian’s hands all over her, his lips devouring her body…

“Is something wrong?” he asked, as she held his hand but did not climb down.

Arabella gave her head a shake and forced herself back into the moment. “No,” she said with a smile. “Nothing is wrong.”

With that, she climbed down from the carriage, suddenly excited for the night ahead and what it might bring.

They attended a society ball hosted by Lady Sybil, a good friend of Caspian’s cousin. If not for that connection, he might not have attended at all, because Arabella knew he despised such events. But they were there, together for the first time, and Arabella was determined to make it count.

They walked across the driveway together, their arms linked. They entered the manor and then the grand ballroom the same way. As they did, heads turned to find them, frowns were found on faces, and whispers began to build. No doubt it was a rare thing to see Caspian attending an event like that, and even rarer to see him not alone.

“They are not exactly being subtle, are they?” Arabella said as they walked through the ballroom. The crowds parted for them, all eyes turned to watch.

“Subtlety is not their forte,” he scoffed. Then he glanced at her, noting how stiff and awkward she was being. “Ignore them, Arabella. Do not care what they think.”

“That is easier said than done.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps, but would you like some advice?”

“If you are willing to give it.”

“Remember who you are,” he said, still looking at her. “You are my wife, a duchess. Nobody here can touch you; everyone is beneath you, so let them stare and let them talk. They are jealous, as they should be.”

“Jealous that I am a duchess? Or jealous that I am married to you?” she asked coyly.

He scoffed. “What do you think?”

“Both,” she said with a righteous nod. “Or that is how I choose to see it.”

He frowned at the response, and she thought he was going to rebuke her. But then a smile tugged at his lips, he shook his head to himself, and Arabella beamed.

Slowly, step by step, she felt him relax so that even she might be fooled into thinking that he was having a good time.

The evening went by slowly. During the first thirty minutes, she and Caspian just walked together. A few strangers came up to introduce themselves, but not many wanted to stay and talk for very long.

That was until one particularly charismatic and overly enthusiastic lord did.

“Your Grace!” He was tall, even compared to Caspian. Not quite as broad and powerfully built, but still strong and commanding. Eyes that were piercing blue, a smile that was all teeth, and the sharpest jawline that Arabella had ever seen. “This might have been the last place that I expected to see you.”

“Lord Carlisle,” Caspian said with no enthusiasm or friendliness. “It is good to see you.”

“Now, why do I doubt that?” Lord Carlisle chuckled before fixing his attention on Arabella. “Ah, and this must be Her Grace. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Arabella’s arm was still linked with Caspian’s, and she felt him stiffen, even pulling her closer. She glanced at her husband, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw him glare a warning at Lord Carlisle.

“I know Lord Carlisle from the club,” Caspian said, still holding her tight.

“You speak as if we are not friends,” Lord Carlisle chuckled. “How many evenings have you and I gotten drunk together? Too many to count!”

“It is nice to meet you,” Arabella said politely.

“I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.”

“It was good seeing you,” Caspian said as he half turned away. “But my wife and I are⁠—”

“Oh, you are going?” Lord Carlisle cut him off. “Forgive me, Your Grace, and please tell me if this is inappropriate, but I hoped to ask your wife for a dance.” He flashed a smile. “I know that you are not keen on such things, and I would hate to think that she goes the night without one.”

Arabella looked closely at her husband. She saw the hesitancy, and she felt the anger. He still clutched to her, he still glared at Lord Carlisle, but would he deny the man? If he had any feelings for Arabella, now would be the perfect time to announce them.

She waited with bated breath, not sure what he would do, while knowing what she wanted him to do…

“I do not see why not,” Caspian said finally, through clenched teeth.

Arabella’s heart sank.

“Wonderful!” Lord Carlisle crooned as he stepped into Arabella. “Do not fear, Your Grace. I will return her in one piece.”

With no choice, Arabella allowed Lord Carlisle to escort her to the dancefloor. He smiled proudly as he did, the look of a man who had won something. And as they took their places, Arabella was sure to search for her husband in the crowd.

He stood on the edge of the circle. He watched her and Lord Carlisle as the dance began. Not once did he look away. Not once did he so much as blink. And always, he wore a cold glare of unkept rage. But was it because he hated Lord Carlisle? Or was he jealous?

The dance proceeded without incident. Lord Carlisle spoke mostly of himself, while Arabella hardly paid him any mind. Always, she found her gaze returning to her husband, and always he watched on.

He ought not to care at all… unless it is for appearances?

His anger excited Arabella. There was a sense of possession in the way that he watched them both. He had been so careful all week to act as if he did not care about her, but he struggled to hide that now. He did not even try!

When the dance ended, Arabella went to walk away, curious what her husband would say and do. Would he rebuke her? Would he act as if he did not care?

“A moment…” Lord Carlisle held onto her. “What is the rush?”

“The dance is over,” she said as she eyed his hand, still around her waist. “And my husband…”

“Can wait a little longer,” he said with a sly grin. “What say we share another? I spoke so much that I feel I did not give you a chance?”

“Oh…” She looked from his hand to her husband. She wanted him to see that she was being kept. “I really should not…”

“It is fine,” Lord Carlisle purred. “Come now, Your Grace. I know the rumors. I know what your marriage really is. Why pretend otherwise?”

She did not know what to say. To lie and claim that she was in love? To agree with him, while saying that it did not matter? Arabella was caught in two minds, frozen to the spot, and most of all, she was in need of his help.

“Lord Carlisle.” From nowhere, Caspian appeared suddenly. Fury was found in his glare, and he bared his teeth as he took the man’s arm and pushed it away. “If you do not mind, I would ask that you unhand my wife.”

Lord Carlisle continued to grin. “I was simply asking her for another dance, Your Grace.”

“And I am saying no.”

“Why not let her decide?”

Caspian’s eyes widened. She saw the anger burst from him like a volcano. His hand curled into a fist. He stepped into Lord Carlisle as if to strike him. And all around them, the crowd watched on.

“My husband is correct…” She stepped between the two men, placing a hand on Caspian’s chest to calm him down. “He does not wish for me to dance, and I ought to obey his command…” She said that final word softly, and Caspian flinched.

“Come.” He took her by the arm, threw a final warning glare at Lord Carlisle, and led her away. “It is time we go.”

“Go where?” she asked, allowing him to lead her.

“Home,” he said. “We are done here.”

Oh, he was angry. Arabella could feel him trembling. But she knew too that the anger was not for her, just as she suspected that whatever he fought with, whatever it was that had him shaking, was sure to come out before the night was over.

As they headed home now, she wondered what might happen when they arrived. Her dream returned—about the night he had come to her and what had happened… the kiss.

Arabella swallowed back those thoughts, just as she allowed herself to be pulled away. Caspian had taken control of the evening, and of her, and she did not mind nearly as much as she thought that she would. In fact, she rather enjoyed it.

Chapter Fifteen

The carriage ride home was just as awkward as the one to the event, possibly even more so. While the ride to the event had been tense and heavy, because Arabella knew Caspian was trying to ignore her, the ride home carried a different kind of burden.

She sat across from Caspian, who watched her the entire trip. It was dark in the carriage, such that she could not make out his face at all. But his eyes stayed on her, like a predator in the night, almost warning her from looking away. She felt that stare in her chest, so her body was flushed. She felt trapped by it, almost scared to imagine what might happen if she did turn from him.

Something has changed… A realization made by Caspian, one he is fighting against with all the strength he has.

Arabella had spent so long now, determined to believe that she wanted nothing to do with Caspian. It felt like the right course to take, the only way that she might truly be free. But as he watched her, as she sensed his thoughts, she could not help but wonder if she had been wrong.

The dream she had… The moment on their wedding night… Was it so bad to be controlled? Was it really such a bad thing to want to be told what to do? In that moment, with how she felt, she was not so sure.

What she did know, however, was that whatever battle her husband fought against, she hoped that he would lose it.

With that realization, the warmth inside of her exploded so that it was all she could do to sit still and let him stare.

The carriage finally arrived at the estate, by which time Arabella was trembling with anticipation. It came to a grinding halt; she made sure to meet her husband’s glower in the dark because she wanted him to see what was on her mind. Dammit, she had stopped pretending!

Only then did Caspian throw open the carriage door, climb out, and storm toward the manor.

Arabella started in surprise as she watched him go. The tension in the carriage vanished, left her shivering, and Arabella gaped because she had no idea what had just happened.

Surely that is not it? This cannot be where the night ends?

Were this the old Arabella, she might have left it there. But this last week had seen her change significantly. She was no longer meek and willing to be told what to do. She was no longer the type to simply bow her head and follow along. She was a duchess, had control over her own life, and was not about to sit back and do nothing. To let the moment pass when she wanted it so badly.

Yes, there was an irony, she realized. That while she was so determined to be in control of her life, she also wanted Caspian to control her. But such dualities mattered little, so she pushed that thought to the back of her mind and hurried from the carriage.

By the time she entered the manor, Caspian was already halfway across the foyer.

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

He stopped at the staircase and did not turn around. “To bed, Arabella. Tonight… was a mistake.”

“What was a mistake?” She hurried toward him.

“All of it,” he said, his voice dark and low. “We should not have attended. We should not have… pretended, as we did. And I ought to have controlled myself better.”

“No,” she said as she came in behind him. She thought to touch him on the shoulders, but resisted that urge. “You did exactly as you should have done. Lord Carlisle overstepped, and you… You helped me, Caspian.”

He flinched at the comment. “You did not need saving.”

“I did,” she said. “And it was not the first time.”

“Do you even want such a thing? Is that not the entire point? I have seen how you have grown into yourself here, Arabella. You are not the subservient daughter whom I married, nor are you someone who needs me to save her. You are better off alone.”

“And what if I do not want to be alone? Did you think of that?”

He still did not look at her, but she could sense the conflict raging within. “We had an agreement, one that you demanded. Tonight I overstepped, but it will not happen again. I promise you.”

“You did not overstep, Caspian. You did as any husband would⁠—”

“I am not your husband,” he hissed, and she flinched. “Not like that, not such that I ought to care. It is easier that way, Arabella. Please, just… be glad that we have nothing to do with one another. It is for the best.” With those words said, he started up the steps.

She watched him go, desperate to make him stop.

Arabella knew now that Caspian wanted her, that there was a part of him that wanted this marriage and all that went with it. But he was so determined to deny that side of himself, even scared of what it might mean. She did not know the reason, but she knew how to make him change his mind. Or rather, she knew how to unlock that side that he fought against so furiously.

“I…” Her voice cracked. “I did not give you permission to walk away.”

Caspian was halfway up the stairs when he stopped. Her words struck him, seeming to grab him by the back of the neck so that his hackles stood on end. She felt the fire burn from him, the anger rise, and she held her breath…

“What did you say?” he growled.

She swallowed. “I said, I did not give you permission to walk away. Something happened tonight, Caspian, and I want to know what. You did not step in to save me because of appearances. You did it because you wanted to. Because you… Because you care.”

“I… That is not true.”

She scoffed. “It is true. You care, and you hate that you do. Now, come back and speak to me about it.”

“No,” he said darkly.

“Yes,” she fired back. “Now.”

“You…” He took a deep breath. “You do not tell me what to do, Arabella.”

“That is exactly what I am doing,” she said bravely, even as her body trembled with anticipation. “And I would like to know, what are you going to do about it?”

Her dream was not real, but that did not mean it was not born from truth. She had seen it the night of their wedding, when he had come to her. Caspian liked control… He liked to be in charge, and he hated being told what to do.

And while he no doubt wanted to forget about her, to pretend that he had that ability, she knew that the chance to control her, to remind her of her place… That was one thing he could not resist. Was it born from a need to protect? Was it a result of having no control over other facets of his life? Or was it merely him, something he could not change, a part of himself that he had no control over?

Really, with how Arabella felt, she did not care. She just wanted it.

“What am I going to do about it…” He groaned. “I… You are testing me, Arabella. Why?”

“Am I?” she said. “Or am I just doing as you told me to do? Taking control of my life. Which is more than I can say of you. In fact, I have changed my mind. Go to bed. Yes, that is what I want you to do.”

He did not speak at first. Still not facing her, his shoulders were hunched, his body was shaking, and she could literally see him fighting within himself.

Then he let out a soft moan, and she felt the atmosphere in the foyer shift. When he turned to look at her, Arabella wondered for a brief moment if she had made a terrible mistake.

“Oh…”

He swept down the stairs as he came for her. She took a step back, but she moved too slowly. A second later, and he was on her, one hand taking her arm, the other wrapping the small of her back. He pulled her into him, locking her in place as he stared down at her.

And all the while, she felt him shake, as she heard his breathing rattle.

“I tried so hard,” he said, his voice low and deep. As he spoke, his eyes roamed her, focusing on her neck and then her lips. “To avoid you, to keep my distance. Why could you not let me have that?”

“I thought I wanted you to,” she said, half pulling away, thrilled when he clung to her. “But what if… What if I was wrong?”

“What do you want, Arabella? You say one thing, you do another…” He licked his lips as he squeezed her. “No more lies. No more mistruths. Tell me now.”

What did she want? So many things.

For so long too, Arabella believed that she would never have them. She was convinced she would always be owned, knowing that when she married, it would be to a man she did not want, whom she would never like, and who would only see her as property and someone to control.

For that reason, she was not one who had desired to fall in love. She had never considered the possibility of a happy marriage. To be free… a simple dream, but it was one she clung to.

She had that now, in a way. But what was freedom if you had nobody to share it with? What was a life where you could do whatever you wanted, if there was nobody to do it with? Was Caspian that person? Could she have it all, if he wanted the same thing?

Truly, she did not know. And while she might have liked to think about it, to wonder if she was making a terrible mistake, it was the way that Caspian held her that pushed those doubts to the side. It was the way that his eyes devoured her that made them irrelevant.

Tomorrow, she might stop and consider what she was about to say. But tonight? Right now? She was free to make her own decisions, and that was what she intended to do.

“What do I want?” she said, holding his hungry eyes. “You, Caspian. I want you.”

“And if I say no?”

“I will not let you.”

He groaned, and his grip on her tightened. “What did I tell you about telling me what to do?”

“I have always been a slower learner,” she breathed. “Perhaps you should let me go and walk away? Teach me a lesson.”

“Again, telling me what to do.”

She flashed her eyes daringly. “What are you going to do about it?”

That was it. With those final words spoken, she knew that she had him. Caspian had spent the entire evening fighting an internal battle, but as she held his gaze, she saw him finally lose it. And when he did…

Without another word, Caspian let go of her arm, took her chin, and pressed her face to his lips in a fiery kiss filled with hunger, desire, and lust.

The kiss exploded across Arabella’s body. It swept through her like a hurricane so that she nearly pulled away. But Caspian held her to him, opening her mouth with his lips, and then diving into her mouth with his tongue.

The kiss was ravenous. It was possessive. It was a kiss that told Arabella that Caspian had wanted this for some time. He did not hold back or go gently at it. He ravished her with his lips and his tongue as if it were his last night on earth.

Her hands were suddenly at his waist, refusing to give him the chance to pull away. He dropped her chin, his hands took her waist also, and he squeezed so tight that she nearly yelped. Groans of pleasure escaped his lips. Growls and snarls as if he were an animal.

Suddenly, one hand snatched at the front of her gown. She gasped and tried to pull her face back, but he followed her.

“You wanted this,” he growled between each kiss. “You did this.”

“I…” She tried to speak, but so hungry was his kiss that she did not have the chance.

As they kissed, his hand raised her gown and quickly slid under it. Her heart raced as she realized what he was doing. She could not breathe. She could hardly focus on the kisses that were never-ending. And all the while, his hand beneath her dress journeyed further, deeper, until she felt his fingers brush between her thighs.

“Oh!” she yelped, again pulled back. “Caspian, what are you⁠—”

His spare hand took her by the back of the head. He held her steadily so that he could look at her. In his eyes, she saw his desire, his want, his lack of control. He licked his lips as he held her still, daring her to pull away.

“You are mine,” he growled as his fingers brushed between her thighs again. “Say it.”

“I…” Her voice cracked.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I am yours,” she said, letting it out, just as his fingers pressed against the opening between her thighs.

There they stood at the base of the steps, entwined in a truly barbaric way. Caspian latched onto her neck, kissing it wetly and fiercely. His fingers, beneath her dress, started to press and stroke her opening. Arabella shut her eyes and moaned as waves of pleasure rushed up her body, and she gave herself to her husband as she never thought that she would.

Soon, she felt two fingers slip inside of her.

She moaned… Her breath caught, her body seized, and then she relaxed as those fingers slipped in deeper and started to curl. They stroked her walls, each time sending an eruption through her. She clenched her jaw, spread her legs a little wider, and did not dare to move.

Caspian continued to kiss her neck. He continued to curl his fingers. He took complete and total control in a way that Arabella could not help but love.

“Oh… Caspian… There…” She found herself saying as his fingers worked her. Slowly, at first, but their pace quickened as her breathing increased. “Do not…”

“Do not tell me what to do,” he warned her, pulling away to say it, then kissing down her neck again. “You are mine.”

“I am.”

“You will obey me,” he said.

“Always,” she moaned. “Because I… I… I am your wife.”

She thought they were the right words to say. She thought he would want to hear them. Was that not the point? Was that not what this was all about? However, as soon as those words left her lips, she felt an immediate change.

Caspian stopped stroking her, just as he stopped kissing her neck.

He stiffened awkwardly, then slowly pulled away. And when he looked at her that time, it was not with lust or hunger or temptation. Rather, it was as if something had come over him, a sudden realization of the moment that sent fear spiking through his very being.

“What?” she asked in panic. “What happened?”

“I…” He released her head, the fear still in his eyes. “I should not have…” He took a step back. “This was a mistake.”

“What? No!” she cried. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing…” He turned away as if in shame, and a coldness washed over Arabella’s body. “You did nothing, Arabella. I was the one who… I should have… I am sorry.” He shook his head. “This was a mistake.”

With those final words, Caspian turned fully and stormed up the stairs, leaving Arabella where she stood. She watched him go, frozen and confused, unable to call out after him because she had no idea what to say.

For a few glorious moments, all had seemed right and perfect. The gap between them was finally bridged, and they had a chance to take a step forward together for the first time. And now… I wish I knew.

Just like that, Arabella was transported back to her first night in the manor. Confused. Alone. Unsure of what she had done, while sensing that the way forward was going to be a long and lonely one. Caspian, it seemed, would make sure of it.

Chapter Sixteen

Arabella sat with Timothy in the morning room, playing a game of cards. It had been his suggestion, wanting to do something fun, and she went along with it for two reasons. The first was that she rather enjoyed the child’s company, and she was eager to further develop their relationship—that was, after all, what she had promised when marrying Caspian.

The second reason, and the most important, was that she needed to distract herself.

“Arabella?” Timothy said to her.

She did not respond. She had six cards in her right hand, a table between herself and Timothy with the deck of cards sitting in the middle, and a pot of tea for them to share. Her saucer was filled to the brim, untouched since she sat down, likely cold by that point.

Across from her, Timothy fidgeted as he always did, but somehow still managed to focus on the game at hand. He was excitable, full of energy, and loved games.

“Arabella?” Timothy said again. “It is your turn.”

Again, she did not respond.

As had been the case for all last evening and for all that morning, her mind was focused squarely on Caspian. Even now, hours later, she felt his lips pressed against her own. She felt his hand through the back of her hair as he gripped her. Most of all, she felt his fingers as they curled gently inside of her so that her body still tingled and spasmed as if the two of them were back in the foyer, locked together, engaging in unspeakable acts from which Arabella’s thoughts could not escape.

How did that happen… Why did it happen? More importantly, why did it stop?

Arabella was thrilled when she had taken control of the moment. Finally realizing what she wanted, she forced Caspian to do as she knew he wanted, and for a few perfect moments, everything felt so right. As confusing as their marriage was, and as difficult to understand, the simplicity of those moments when they kissed, and he ravished her, made it all worth it.

And then, unexpectedly, Caspian faltered.

That was what troubled Arabella the most and frustrated her. Since the marriage began, she had been so committed to her independence, to the need of not relying on anyone, that giving that up so Caspian could have her felt like a betrayal of who she was.

Worse still, she had not cared.

Maybe I was wrong? Is that why Caspian refused me?

She had little understanding of male temperaments, so she did not know what to think. But as the hours stretched by, as that moment between them became little more than a distant memory, Arabella began to consider the very real fact that she had made a horrible mistake.

This marriage was only ever meant to be convenient. Caspian clearly wanted it to be. So, why fight for or want that which was wrong? Why give up her independence when that was exactly what Arabella craved the most?

I know why… Oh, how I know, she thought as her body shuddered once more, as her thighs tingled, and as her mouth grew moist because she could not stop thinking about that kiss…

“Arabella!” Timothy cried. “What are you doing?”

The sudden exclamation brought her back into the room. She blinked as she centered herself, unsurprised to find Timothy glowering at her.

“Oh…” She gave her head a shake. “I am sorry, Timothy, I… Did you say it is my turn?”

“For over a minute now,” he pouted. “Are you not having fun?”

“I am,” she assured him. “I am just a little tired, that’s all.”

“We can do something else,” he offered. “If you would prefer?”

She smiled at the offer. That he wanted to spend time with her at all was hugely significant, and that he was willing to change the game so she might have fun was even more so.

“No, no,” she said. “This is perfect. Just let me…” She looked at her hand of cards, pretending to consider her next move. Unfortunately, she was more than a little lost, and she doubted that she had the wherewithal to keep her focus. “What are we playing again?”

“Cribbage!” Timothy said with frustration. “You said⁠—”

“I jest,” she laughed. “Just teasing you.”

He scowled at her, but it was done playfully.

They played for another thirty minutes, during which time Arabella lost every game. Not that she minded, because Timothy loved winning.

Throughout that time, Arabella truly did her best to stay present, but every time she heard a noise from somewhere within the house, she stiffened, sat up, and listened carefully, forever wondering if it might be Caspian and if he might come and see her.

He did no such thing, of course, and it was not a surprise. In fact, if she knew her husband as well as she was starting to do, Arabella would not have even been surprised if he avoided her for at least that day. Possibly even longer.

A sudden knock at the door had her sitting up again, a moment of hope and excitement found, only for it to wither and die when she turned to find a footman standing there.

“Your Grace,” he said with a short bow. “I am sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor.”

“Oh.” She forced a smile and pushed down her disappointment. “Who is it?”

“Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough, and Lady Ashcombe. Shall I send them in?”

“They are here to see me?” she asked with surprise.

“That is what they said, Your Grace.”

Arabella pushed her lips together in thought. She had met the Dowager a few times, and she liked the woman well enough. As Caspian’s cousin, Arabella knew how important he was to her; possibly, she was the only person to whom he might listen about anything. As for Lady Ashcombe? That was more of a surprise. Arabella had met the lady briefly the previous evening, but they spoke little and were practically strangers.

I wonder what they want…

“Yes, send them in,” Arabella said, knowing that she had no choice.

A moment later, the Dowager and Lady Ashcombe entered the room. The Dowager headed straight for Timothy, who tried to dodge around her, but she blocked him and hugged the child.

Lady Ashcombe was more reserved, but she made for Arabella and offered her a small curtsy. “We are sorry for the suddenness of this visit, Your Grace,” she said. “But Penelope was insistent that you would not mind.”

“Of course I was,” the Dowager said as she released Timothy. “I have not paid a visit since the wedding, which is too long in my estimation. Where is that husband of yours?”

“Oh…” Arabella resisted the urge to look away as if in shame. “I have not seen him this morning. Likely, he is in his study.”

“Of course he is,” the Dowager sighed. “He works far too hard when he ought to be spending time with his wife and nephew. Do not even think of running off—” She pointed a finger at Timothy, who was in the process of sneaking from the room.

His smile was wicked, and Arabella was certain that he would duck his head and sprint from the room. But the Dowager raised a warning eyebrow at the boy, and he skulked back toward her.

“I will speak to Caspian later,” the Dowager said with a firm nod. “For now… What is this?” She eyed the cards on the table. “Ah, yes, you said you enjoyed playing games.”

“Timothy certainly does,” Arabella chuckled.

“As do I. What do you say, Sybil?” The Dowager raised her eyebrow at her friend. “Are we keen for a game of whist, perhaps? Seeing as there are four of us. Timothy, be a dear and set the table. There is a good boy.”

Arabella was always impressed by how the Dowager took charge of the room. She did it so smoothly and with such confidence and assertiveness that Arabella could hardly believe it.

That is who I want to be…

That was why she needed to forget what had happened last evening with Caspian. For a moment, she had wanted to be under his control, as if that was something to covet. She could not let that happen again.

Within minutes, the four of them were seated around the table, playing a game of whist. It was a game that Arabella was rather good at, and she felt a sudden desire to win, as if she needed to prove something to both herself and the Dowager. Better still, Timothy was on her team, and he liked to win even more than she did.

However, as she should have expected, the Dowager was just as impressive at the game, and she commanded the table as she did every other aspect of her life.

“So, tell me, Your Grace, how goes the marriage so far?” the Dowager asked as she placed down a card to match the suit of the one that sat face-up on the table.

“Oh…” Arabella hesitated. “It is going well.”

“It looked as if it was,” the Dowager noted with a coy smile. “Last evening, you and Caspian appeared a perfect couple. I could scarcely believe it.”

“And how the two of you left,” Lady Ashcombe added with a smile that was knowing. She placed down her own card, flashing her eyes as she did. “Lord Carlisle was certainly put out.”

“As he should be,” the Dowager said sharply. “He overstepped, and Caspian was right to put the man in his place. Not that it was not a surprise, mind you. I cannot remember a time that Caspian would court controversy like that.”

“He…” Arabella’s throat was restricted. “He was merely doing his duty. It was not so surprising, truly.”

The Dowager eyed Arabella over her cards. “Yes, his duty. I am sure that is all it was.”

The woman was fishing for information. Or perhaps she was merely looking to confirm what she suspected to be true. Where she knew well the reason for Arabella and Caspian’s marriage, it looked as if she was starting to consider that something else had come of it.

Arabella would have liked nothing more than to have opined on how far she and Caspian had come. She would have loved to have spoken his praises, asserting without fear of overreach that things were going better than expected. But she was careful to do so.

Again, the way that Caspian had fled last night sat with her. Whatever she might have thought was happening between them was clearly not the case, and as Arabella was determined not to be the type who relied on others, she would not yearn for that which her husband did not want.

“You may ask him, if you like,” she said as she placed down her own card. “But I am sure that Caspian will say the same. Things are going well, and that is enough for now.” She looked pointedly at the Dowager, almost daring her to contradict the statement.

“Clearly they are,” the Dowager agreed. “I noticed it as soon as I entered this house. It is more…” She laughed and shook her head. “There is certainly more life to it. Whatever you are doing, it is working. I suggest you keep it up.”

The praise was welcome, even if it stung.

“Thank you,” Arabella said politely. “I appreciate it.”

They continued playing for another hour, throughout which Arabella felt the Dowager’s knowing stare probing her. It was as if she did not believe Arabella’s modesty, and as if she was daring her to be more than she was willing to show.

I will be that, only not with Caspian. But everything else… I will prove that I am worthy of being a duchess.

When the game ended, the Dowager sent for the footman.

“Tell His Grace that I will be joining him shortly in his study,” she said. “And if he tries to refuse, be sure to tell him that it is not a request.”

Again, Arabella could not help but look at the woman with sheer admiration. She was so powerful, so in control…

“Sybil, might you wait here with Her Grace and Timothy for a few moments? I will not be long.” She then smiled at Arabella. “As always, it was a pleasure seeing you, Arabella. I pray that the next time, you prove what I suspect…” A raised eyebrow. “That you are exactly what Caspian needs.”

With those words, she swept from the room, leaving behind a gaping void that could not be filled, so that all Arabella could do was stare at where the Dowager had just been, her determination soaring as she decided without hesitation that she would one day be the same.

Most importantly, she would never be controlled again, nor would she want to be. Even if that meant giving up any intrepid thoughts about Caspian, herself, and what might have been…

Chapter Seventeen

“Ido find myself wondering…” The door to Caspian’s study swung open, and his cousin stalked in as if she owned the room, the house, and the entire world. “What on earth are you doing up here, alone, when your dear wife is downstairs wishing for your company? Very strange.”

Caspian looked up from his work, sure to curl his upper lip with distaste, before lowering his head again. “I am busy, Penelope. So, whatever this is, make it quick.”

“I will make it exactly as I want,” Penelope said as she took the seat across from him. “Quick? Slow? My time is my own to use as I see fit.”

“And what of my time?” he said sharply. “Or does that not concern you?”

“I will say it again. What concerns me, Caspian, is arriving at your home, expecting to spend the morning with you and your dear wife, only to learn that you are hiding. While I might have assumed you were hiding from me, you were unaware that I intended to see you. Thus, I can only assume it is your wife whom you are hiding from.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“She did not have to. Anyone with two eyes can see how you cower from her.”

Caspian snapped his head up and snarled at his cousin. “I am not cowering from anyone. Although you might not understand such things, I have work to do, Penelope. And because I have work, I cannot waste my time playing games or going on walks or doing whatever else it is that you seem to think so important.”

“And what of Timothy? I suppose he does not deserve your attention either?”

“Which is why I married Arabella in the first place,” he said. “She is with him so that I do not have to be.” His words came out cruel and harsh, and he winced with shame. “I… I will see to Timothy later. I am not avoiding him.”

“Timothy is not who I am worried about,” his cousin said. “And while I do not doubt that you do wish to improve your relationship with the boy, might you consider killing two birds with a single stone? Right now, Arabella and Timothy are downstairs playing cards. Join them. Show them that you care.”

“Is that why you are here?” he sneered, even if it was more for him than for his cousin. “To judge me? Go ahead if it makes you feel better.”

“It makes me feel nothing,” she said, softening her tone so the judgment he previously felt faded. “Remember, I am the one who wanted you to marry in the first place, Caspian. A part of that was for Timothy, I will not deny it. But a larger part was for you.”

He scoffed. “It is a good thing that you have so much time, Penelope. Because to spend it on worrying about me is to waste it.”

She said nothing for a moment.

Sitting across from him, Penelope watched Caspian with a sense that she saw right through him. He tried to glare. He tried to scowl. He tried to look as if his anger was directed only at her intrusion. But the longer that she watched him, the more the fight in Caspian faded.

She was older than he was, and with the father that Caspian had, Penelope had always been the one who looked out for him. For that reason, she knew him better than most, so she saw through his efforts without needing to try.

So it was that Caspian slumped in his chair, the fight completely gone, shame settling over him like an old friend…

“What happened last night, Caspian?” she asked, her voice suddenly soft and filled with concern. “Truly, when I saw you stand up to Lord Carlisle, I thought that I was imagining things.”

Caspian shrugged. “I did as any husband would do. Last evening was about putting on airs of a happy marriage with Arabella, and if I had not stepped in, people would have wondered why.”

“No,” she said. “It was more than that. I saw how you watched them dance together, as I saw the fury take you before you confronted him. You did not do so for appearances, but because you thought that you must.”

“And so what if I did?”

“Truly, when I arrived here an hour ago, do you know what I expected? No…” She furrowed her brow. “Not expected but hoped for. Having seen the way that you and Arabella left together, I dared to dream that I would arrive to find you together, Timothy at your heels, enjoying not just the day but the company of one another. I dared to picture happiness found in these walls, as I do not think I have ever seen.”

“I had no idea you were so idealistic, cousin,” Caspian said bitterly. “What have you been reading lately?”

“Hopeful,” she corrected. “That is what I am. Alas, I arrived here to find your wife alone and you in hiding. Which leads me to wonder, to ask for a second time, what happened?”

“Nothing happened…” He fidgeted and looked away. “You are reading into what is not there.”

“And if I were to tell you how utterly bereaved your wife appears this morning? If I were to tell you that she looks like a lost puppy, wondering what she has done wrong, what might you say?”

He scoffed. “I would say that you do not know my wife.”

“She is upset, Caspian,” Penelope pushed on him. “And I know that it has everything to do with you.” Then she looked right at him, unblinking, daring him to argue with her.

Caspian might have liked to have done so. He could have very well committed to the lie that she was imagining things—or better, he might have told her that it did not matter. His marriage was for one purpose only, a purpose that was working, so what did he care about how his wife felt?

But I do care… And that is the problem.

Caspian had almost given in to his urges last evening. It was the words Arabella had said to him, questioning his authority, that triggered the need inside him to be a protector, the type who looked after those he cared about. That, paired with what had happened at the ball, had caused Caspian to lose complete control over himself.

And for a few moments, he had not minded at all.

Her taste had lit a fire inside of him. The way her body had reacted, her moans, had helped to build that fire. He had owned her completely, free to do whatever he wanted, to have her completely and utterly as he had secretly yearned for now for so long.

He could still feel her lips on his. He could still feel her body trembling as he slipped his fingers inside of her. And he could still sense the way that she broke apart, giving herself to him.

But then she called herself his wife, and that had snapped Caspian out of the moment. He had started, stumbled, and was overwhelmed with self-loathing and disgust at what he had almost done. It was not merely pleasure he wanted, but intimacy, and if he kept pleasing and submitting to his wife, there would be no way back.

That is what I fear the most.

“She has no cause to be upset,” Caspian said, unable to look at his cousin. “She knew what this marriage was. The only thing it could ever be.”

“Things change,” Penelope pressed gently. “And that is a good thing.”

“It is not,” he said as the sickness inside of him grew. “I do not want it to change. What I want… The only thing…” He clenched his jaw. “Arabella might be upset with me now, but she will come to realize that it is for the best.”

“And if she does not?”

“She will,” he said firmly. “And if you are so worried about my wife, perhaps you might tell her? Ease her worries with a healthy dose of the truth. Tell her why I am the way that I am, and why she is better off avoiding me.”

“Caspian…” Penelope sighed with sadness. “You are not your father. You never have been. And should you allow yourself to care for another, to love, you will realize that.”

“And what if you are wrong?” he hissed at her. “I cannot take that chance. How can you ask me to open myself to someone, when you know at the same time that if I do that, I will only end up hurting them?”

“I do not know that.”

“You do,” he said with a grimace of shame. “The path you want me to walk down leads to pain and suffering. Arabella might be upset with me now, but she will hurt all the more if I ignore what I know.” He forced himself to look at his cousin. “I am not a good person, Penelope, and pretending otherwise does Arabella no good.”

Penelope looked at him with pity. “You forget, I knew your father too. Perhaps better than you did. And do you know what you and he do not have in common? He did not care what he was, nor did he waste time thinking about the pain that he brought to others. That is who he was. It was not marriage that did it, and it never was.”

Caspian said nothing.

This was not the first time that he and Penelope had had this argument, and he doubted that it would be the last. There was nothing that she could say to change his mind, because if there was, he would have done so a long time ago.

Although even as Penelope reminded him of this, images of Arabella passed through his mind. This might not have been the first time they had argued about this exact thing, but it was the first time there had been someone in Caspian’s life who made him stop and consider if he was being honest with himself, or merely stubborn.

Could I be a better person than my father was? Could Arabella make me want to be that person…

“That you are so worried in the first place is proof that you are not your father,” Penelope said as she stood up and pushed back her chair. “And I just pray, Caspian, that you realize this. Not for Arabella. Not even for Timothy. But for you. Despite what you believe, you deserve to be happy, and while it might sound absurd to your ears, I truly do think that Arabella might just be the person who can make you that.”

Again, he said nothing, looking away as his cousin left the room.

Her words, however, did not leave with her. And as Caspian tried to return to his work, those words echoed around his head, sounding a little too tempting and hopeful so that for the first time ever, he wanted to believe them.

Just as he wanted to change…

Chapter Eighteen

Arabella and Timothy were outside, playing in the garden together, when a change took over the young boy that had her heart catching in her throat. He was running ahead of her, darting between bushes and hedges, laughing gaily and without a care in the world, when he suddenly stopped dead.

At first, she assumed that he was hiding. Often, he would do so, encouraging her to try and find him. Always too, when she did, he would declare that she had cheated, and then he would run away again.

This time, however, he stepped out from around the hedge with a face that was as pale as a ghost. His eyes were wide too, fear found in them, and that was when Arabella knew that something was wrong.

“Timothy…” Her voice cracked because she had never seen him so afraid. Nervous, perhaps. Unsure and cautious. But terrified as he was? It was anathema to the joyous child. “What is the matter? What has…” Her words caught in her throat when she saw the cause.

Timothy took another nervous step from the hedge, revealing that he was not alone. With him, one hand now resting on the child’s shoulder, stood Arabella’s father.

“Ah, Arabella,” he said pleasantly, laughter in his voice. “Look who I found.” He kept his hand on Timothy’s shoulders, squeezing it just enough to keep the boy from running away.

What is he doing here?

Arabella looked around the garden, confirming that they were alone. Her father must have sneaked in over the fence, lying in wait until she came outside to play with Timothy. Did he know that they often came outside at this hour? Had he been watching them? And for how long?

Such a thought made Arabella’s blood turn to ice…

“Ti… Timothy,” she stammered. “Come here, now. Come on…” She forced a smile as she waved him forward, praying that her father would not do anything drastic.

Thankfully, her father lifted his hand from Timothy’s shoulder, at which point Timothy sprinted forward. His face was still pale, his large eyes still held fear, and as he ran, he nearly tripped over in his bid to put as much distance between himself and her father as he could.

“I am sorry, Arabella,” he said, sniffing back tears. “I did not see him, and then he was just there.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” She maintained her smile, desperate to project strength. “And no need to worry, he is just my father.”

“He is?”

“Yes.” She added a laugh, praying it would help to ease the boy. “Now, go inside, Timothy. Find Mrs. Robertson until I return.”

“But…” He looked back at her father. “He… He scares me, Arabella.”

“There is no need to worry.” If only that were true. “Now, do as I say.” She raised a commanding eyebrow at him. “I assure you, you have nothing to worry about.”

It was clear that Timothy did not want to leave her, and that alone was almost a reason to smile. But he was also worried, scared of her father’s presence, and it took little convincing to see the young boy sprint across the garden and inside to safety.

And then, Arabella and her father were alone.

“You look nervous, Arabella,” her father said with a friendly smile as he walked toward her. “Upset to see me? I thought you might be pleased. It has been far too long.”

She said nothing.

For several weeks now, Arabella had grown into her role as duchess, blossoming into the woman she knew she was capable of becoming. She was striving to become her own person. She was no longer one to cower or ask permission for anything. She was powerful, in control, a woman reborn!

At least that was what she believed.

Alas, in her father’s presence, Arabella felt those feelings fade like a flower lacking water and sunlight. As he approached her, she was transported back to her childhood, to a life spent as a prisoner, with no agency, no control over her own life, utterly at the mercy of a man who wielded such power that she could barely breathe in his presence.

I am a fraud, and I was a fool to think otherwise.

Worse still, her father knew it. He smiled as he approached her, but it was mocking, and his eyes shone with malicious pride and a sense of knowing. That beak-like nose, those hollow cheeks, his receding hairline… A bird of prey was how she always thought of him, and Arabella found herself trapped in his sights.

“Wha… what are you doing here?” Arabella stammered pathetically. She tried to meet her father’s gaze, but she could not summon the strength.

“I see that our time apart has not seen your respect for me develop,” he said as if it upset him. “A shame, Arabella. As your father, you ought to be thrilled that I have come to visit my only daughter. And as a duchess, you should encourage such relationships. What will people say when they hear how you treat me?”

Arabella snapped her head up and glared at him. Her body trembled as she did, as if she instinctively knew that the result would end poorly for her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked again, that time with more authority.

Her father dropped the veneer of kindness. His eyes turned cold, and his thin lips turned into a sneer. “Ah, so perhaps marriage has provided you with a backbone. Or rather, the appearance of one.”

“Is it money?” she said. “If it is, you have wasted your time as well as mine.”

He scoffed. “Is that what you think of me? That I would come here and demand money from you?”

“You do not want to know what I think of you.”

She glared ruefully at him, determined that he see her as more than just his daughter. She was a duchess, and Arabella imagined how the Dowager might act if she were in this position.

“Oh yes,” he chuckled. “A backbone indeed. Had I not known you so well, I might have believed it to be real.” His expression turned flat. “Stop this at once, Arabella. I am your father, and if you think that you can stand up to me…” He widened his eyes in warning. “In my eyes, you are still a silly little girl, and that will never change.”

“I am not a girl. I am a duchess, married to⁠—”

“Do not embarrass yourself by evoking your marriage to me,” he cut her off. “I know more than anyone what your marriage is, just as I know that His Grace cares nothing for you.”

Arabella winced at the cruel accuracy of his words.

Things might have been different had Caspian spoken to Arabella once in these last few days. As she had expected from him, he avoided her as if she were poison, confirming without having to say it that he wanted nothing to do with her.

Arabella was alone, without allies, and certainly not as powerful and as changed as she wanted to believe. And, as her father knew her so well, he saw this clearly. Just as he relished it.

“I do not want money,” her father said with a sneer. “What I want from you is a favor. Whether you know it or not, your husband spends an inordinate amount of time at Boodle’s Club in London. Mostly, he drinks, and rarely does he gamble with intent. But that is about to change.”

“What…” Arabella blinked through her confusion. “What are you⁠—”

“In a few days, His Grace will be receiving a slew of invitations from fellow members of the ton. Some friends of his, other associates. All, however, will request that he join them at their table. Cards, mostly, are an easy way to find oneself in over one’s head. More so when the player has an ego as big as His Grace does.”

Arabella started with bewilderment, struggling to understand what her father was saying.

“You will convince him to accept these invitations,” her father continued. “How you will do this, I care not. But it is imperative that he does so. Within the week, I expect to see His Grace at Boodle’s Club, gambling as if his life depended on it. Do I make myself clear?”

“He will not…” She shook her head. “Why would he listen to me?”

Her father’s smile was a sickly thing. “As his wife, I am sure you can persuade him somehow. You have little power, Arabella, and do not think otherwise. But as a woman, persuasion is a skill you can surely employ.”

It took her a moment to understand what he meant.

When she did, Arabella almost retched. Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat. She turned away, disgust on her face, visibly shaking.

“Exactly,” her father chuckled. “I have no doubt that you can turn His Grace’s fancy if you put your mind to it. And you will put your mind to it.”

“No…” She firmed herself and turned back on him. “I… I do not…” She wanted to snarl. She wanted to dismiss. She wanted to stand tall and demand that he leave at once!

Alas, she was but a girl facing off against her father, and never before had she felt so weak and pathetic.

“Why?” she managed. “Gambling? It makes no sense.”

“It does,” he said with a sigh. “When a man gambles, he makes bets that he cannot keep. When those bets are owed, he is forced to offer alternatives. And as I fully expect His Grace to lose…” He smirked as he looked around the garden. “This is a rather lovely home, you know. I cannot wait until it is mine.”

Her eyes widened as it came to her.

Her father wanted more than money. He wanted to own Caspian. And while she could not imagine what deals he had made with these lords who would soon be gambling with Caspian, she knew well what he would do once Caspian owed them more money than he could afford.

“I will tell him,” she said. “I will tell him what you plan.”

He scoffed. “I doubt it. Oh, you might think that you will. Right now, you might even believe it to be possible. But know this…” He stepped forward, so close that she felt his breath on her. “I own you, Arabella. You might have married a duke, you might have dared to dream that you were free of me, but you will always be my daughter, and when I say jump, the only question you will have for me is how high.”

She turned away, disgusted with her father, but more disgusted with herself.

“And if you think to refuse me…” he growled. “You know what I am capable of. That boy… Timothy, was it? He is rather adorable. At least for now, he is.”

“No…” she gasped.

He scoffed as he stepped back. Then he straightened up and fixed a warm smile on his face as if they were having a very pleasant chat. “It was good to see you, Arabella, truly. So much, in fact, that I already look forward to the next time.”

With those words, her father turned and strode back across the garden, quickly vanishing behind the hedges as if he had never been.

And there Arabella stood. Shaking. Cowering back. Frozen to the spot with a sense of fear and helplessness that she knew too well. She was a fool to think that she had changed, as she was a fool to think that change was even possible.

Always, she belonged to someone else, and her life was never her own. It was only then that she finally was willing to admit it.

Chapter Nineteen

Caspian stalked the various rooms of Boodle’s Club in search of George. While he often liked to drink alone so he could ruminate on his thoughts and stew in his own pitiful sorrow, tonight was a different story.

For several days now, Caspian had sat with his cousin’s words, unable to escape them as he slowly inched closer toward what he had long since suspected but still refused to admit: that his cousin spoke the truth.

Have I been wrong all this time?

It ought to have been a relief to realize. For most, it would be seen as a new lease on life. If he was not like his father, then it meant that Caspian had a chance to be happy. He could be a proper father to Timothy, a real husband to Arabella, and the risk of dragging them down a path of torment and pain was one he no longer needed to fear.

However, as was the way of Caspian, he was stubborn and scared, and despite that truth niggling in the back of his mind, growing harder to deny, he refused to fully accept it. If, by chance, his cousin was wrong, the result would be an utter tragedy. For him, for Timothy, and for Arabella.

So it was that after several days of deep consideration, he went to the club, figuring that he would open up to his closest friend so that an answer might be found.

Of course, the very fact that Caspian wanted someone else to convince him of this path ought to have been further proof of what he wanted.

But it does not matter what I want. What matters is what might happen if I dare to chase that which I desire. That is what scares me, and that is why I must be careful.

Frustratingly, George was nowhere to be found.

For that reason, Caspian soon found himself sitting alone in Boodle’s Club, tucked away in the back corner, a mug of ale gripped firmly in his hand, his thoughts the only company that he had. Or so he thought…

The club was busy but not loud. His eyes reviewed the patrons, recognizing a few faces, but not enough for anyone to see him and dare to approach. Most knew better than to waste their time on such matters.

That was when he saw her.

It was her red hair that Caspian noticed first; it reminded him of Arabella, as so many things did of late. His eyes then found her face, focusing on her marble-white skin, the piercing green of her eyes, and the way her smile curved into one of wicked intent when she saw him watching her.

Before Caspian could look away, the red-headed woman was on her way toward him.

“Is there something on my face?” she asked as she reached his table.

“Excuse me?”

“My face,” she repeated. “For why else would you be watching me?”

Caspian exhaled sharply from his nose. “I assure you that I was not. You just…” Again, he noticed her hair and those green eyes. “You just remind me of someone.”

“Oh? Is that someone here then?”

“No, she is not.”

“Lucky me.” Without asking for permission, the red-headed woman sat down across from Caspian. “I might find myself jealous if she were.” As she spoke, she leaned forward, sure to press her arms under her chest so that they were pronounced and unmissable.

Caspian’s eyes darted downward. Her spencer jacket was worn with only one button, a little too tight, the effect of such done to draw attention to her chest. She saw Caspian’s eyes drop as he noticed, she flashed her own eyes in response, and she leaned further forward.

“I have seen you here before,” she began with a purr. “Although we have never spoken. Strange that.”

“Is it?’ Caspian said simply, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. Not that this helped. If anything, it was even more distracting. “I have a sense that your attention is one often sought after.”

“Is that your way of telling me that I am pretty?” She batted her eyelashes, and her cheeks turned pink.

“Just a statement of fact,” Caspian said as he had a sip of his ale.

She laughed as she locked onto him with her eyes. “Not much of a talker, are we?”

“Not especially.”

“Oh well, there are better things that we can be doing than talking…” Her eyes roamed him, suggestive and hungry.

When Caspian had taken on the title of duke, he had made a promise to himself. While most expected him to seek a wife, start a family, and follow the usual path of most lords, he chose a different route. He embraced a life of debauchery, rakish behavior, drinking, gambling, and courting, earning a reputation that was often judged, and rightly so.

He did not think of himself as a philanderer per se, but that did not mean that he abstained from casual affairs entirely. And as a duke, with a face such as his one, it was all too easy to find women who might wish to waste an hour or a night with him… often several.

So, as he looked across the table at the red-headed woman, he saw the future clearly because he had lived it so many times before.

It is so easy, so predictable, and exactly what I need.

“What is your name?” he asked the woman, taking another casual sip of mead.

“You may call me whatever you wish,” she said in a whisper.

He chuckled. “Come now, no need to be coy.”

“My name…” She leaned forward even further and licked her lips. “My name is Bella.”

It was like a bucket of cold water being thrown over him.

That name… Caspian stared at it. He leaned back, pulled from his stupor as if by an unseen force. When he finally regained control, he looked at Bella again, seeing her in a completely different light than before.

Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, she was attainable. And yes, it would be so easy to have her for the night. But was that what Caspian wanted? Would that bring him any joy or happiness or fulfillment whatsoever?

No, it will not. And where that was once the point, now it feels empty…

He could not help but think about Arabella next. It was the little things that came to mind—her smile, her laugh, the way she glared at him when she was about to start an argument, and how much he enjoyed teasing her because of it.

Then he remembered the night of the ball, how he felt when he saw her dancing with Lord Carlisle. After that, it was their argument, followed by their kiss, paired with a feeling that had erupted between them unlike any that Caspian had experienced before.

It was more than passion. It was more than pure desire. It was… completion, whatever that might mean.

Bella was a passing fancy. Safe. With her, Caspian would enjoy the night, knowing that nobody would get hurt. But Arabella was the type of fulfillment that Caspian had for so long avoided, but now wanted like he had never wanted anything.

For the first time ever, he dared to dream that such a thing was possible, and that he might not only have it, but that he deserved it.

“Well?” Bella pressed as the silence stretched between them. “Might I have your name?”

Caspian looked at her with disgust; that being disgust for himself. Even talking to her felt wrong, as if it were a betrayal of his wife. An act like this was something his father might have done; was that not exactly what Caspian wanted to avoid?

I am not my father, and dammit, it is time I prove it.

“No, you may not.” Caspian pushed his mug of ale away and stood.

“You are going?” Bella looked aghast. “Where?”

“It was lovely to meet you, Bella,” he said. “But I am afraid I must return home. Have a pleasant evening.” With those words spoken, Caspian hurried from Boodle’s Club without looking back.

Caspian could still not say what he meant to do regarding his wife. Would he accept his feelings? Would he give his marriage a chance? Those were questions for later.

What he did know—and this stayed with him as he rode home that evening—was that he had deep feelings for his wife that he did not want but could no longer deny. Feelings of lust. Feelings of desire and passion. Feelings that haunted him like a specter, making it impossible to outrun or ignore them.

Like it or not, Arabella had ensnared Caspian in her web, and the harder he struggled, the tighter her trap pulled him so that there was no way out.

Chapter Twenty

As was common, Arabella supped alone.

Although she had not asked, one of the footmen told her that Caspian had gone into London for the evening and was not expected to return until late. And where a small part of Arabella was saddened that her husband was still set on avoiding her, another part was relieved.

She had not spoken to him since the night of the ball, nor had she dared to speak to him about her father’s threats.

It was ironic in many ways that if she and Caspian had not done as they did, if he had not purposefully avoided her as if to remind her that he wanted nothing to do with her, then she might have been more willing to approach him. Until that moment, she had been so sure of who she was growing into, so determined to be a woman in control of her fate and her position in this house.

However, after being so utterly shamed by her father and ignored by her husband in a way that was brutally humbling, she found herself without agency, without confidence, and without a clue what to do.

If I tell Caspian, will he be grateful? Or will he blame me somehow? Will it only serve to make things worse between us…

As if things could be worse!

“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” the footman asked her as he took her empty plate.

“Oh…” She smiled at him. “No, thank you.” He was about to walk away when a thought came to mind. “Actually, you said that His Grace is out this evening?”

“That is correct.”

“At what hour does he usually return?”

The footman considered. “It varies, Your Grace. But mostly, it is well after midnight.”

“Midnight…” She nodded her head as an idea formed.

The idea was a dangerous one. It was the kind of idea that, a few weeks ago, she would never even have considered—it would not have even occurred to her, such was the danger. But Arabella was not who she had been then. Yes, she had taken a few steps back, and yes, she was lately feeling chastised and weak. But that did not mean she was the same little girl her father seemed to think she was.

If I want to be seen as someone to obey, I must act like it.

It was subtle, hardly felt at all, but Arabella willed a sense of confidence through her body that she desperately needed. She pictured the Dowager and what she might do. She imagined herself possessed of that same level of ability. And then, with nothing else for it, she acted.

“Thank you,” she said as she stood. “I will see myself to my rooms.”

With that said, Arabella strode from the dining room. But she did not make her way up the steps to her quarters. Rather, she turned sharply down the hallway, which led to the drawing room.

The residence was pitched in darkness, few lamps lit, as if the night warned her off what she was doing. Her heart raced, and her legs trembled; her entire body rallied against her. But she steadied herself the best she could, needing to believe that this was right.

She might not have the courage to stand up to her father. And she might not have the courage to confront Caspian. But that did not mean that she was helpless. This was her home, her life, and she needed to act like it.

So, a minute later, she walked into the drawing room.

A fire burned hot and menacing in the main hearth, but the room was empty. Using the flames’ orange light, she quickly crossed to the correspondence desk where Mrs. Robertson was known to leave the daily mail for Caspian to read. There, a pile of letters was stacked, and with trembling hands, Arabella began to sort through them.

What are you doing, Arabella! If Caspian finds out…

But he would not find out. As she searched through the letters, she tried her best to deduce which ones were common fair and which were invitations. Her father had said that various lords would be writing to Caspian soon, and she had no doubt that such letters would be found in that pile.

As to her plan? It was rather simple. She would take those letters. She would burn them. And in so doing, Caspian would never know of her father’s machinations, and Arabella would be free of having betrayed him.

It was because she was so focused on those letters that she was not paying attention to her surroundings, which was why she did not hear the approaching footsteps until they were in the room with her.

“What are you doing?”

Arabella froze. With both hands sifting through the letters and her back to the doorway, she stood so still that it almost seemed as if she was hoping it was someone else he was speaking to. The flames flickered across the room. Her heart pounded. And her blood went cold with fear.

“Arabella.” Footsteps coming toward her. “What are you doing?”

Arabella’s mind raced as she searched for answers. Anything! Something that she could say to explain what she was doing. She had no doubt that Caspian would be furious at her, and she was desperate to come up with some explanation that might ease that fury.

“I was just…” She swallowed and gently set the letters down. “This is not what it…” Then she turned around.

As said, she was braced for his anger. When she turned, she found his eyes, looking for the fire that surely burned behind them. She knew her husband well enough to know that he was a man who liked control and who did not like things changing around him. Her being there would be enough to set him off without a doubt.

Surprisingly, when she found those eyes, she did not see any sense of fury. There was no glare, no scowl, and no look of warning. Rather, he looked confused, almost concerned, as if he had done something wrong that he needed to apologize for.

Not what I expected at all.

“Are you looking for something?” He stopped several feet away from her. But he did not stand tall, and he did not look as if he meant to intimidate.

“I… I…” The urge to lie could not be found. If she were scared, that might not be the case, and if she thought he would be angry, it certainly would not be. But as she looked at Caspian, she realized that he was not what she had expected.

And it was because of that startling realization that the words came before Arabella could stop them.

“I need to tell you something,” she began, looking away with shame. “I ought to have done days ago, but I did not know… I was scared of what you might say.”

“Is something the matter?” It sounded genuine, as if he truly cared.

“It is my father.” She forced herself to look up, wanting him to see how sorry she was. While she hated being so weak and helpless, for some reason, it did not feel nearly as bad when Caspian was involved. “He came to me a few days… He threatened me. He threatened you.”

“What?” His jaw clenched.

“He told me that in a few days, you would be receiving invitations to various gambling tables and events. That lords you knew would be asking you to join them.” Her stare was pitiful and pleading. “And where he did not say it specifically, I think he means for you to lose. My feeling is that these lords, whoever they are, might owe him favors, and if you owe them money, then he will own you…” She winced and shied away. “I am so sorry, Caspian. I should have told you sooner.”

Caspian did not speak at first.

With her head still bowed, she felt him watching her. No doubt this news infuriated him, and no doubt he would let her know it. While she was not responsible, she should have said something to him earlier, and that she did not… He is right to be angry with me.

“Arabella,” he sighed, his voice soft. “There is no need to be so frightened.”

She started. “I… I am not…”

“You are,” he said, his voice soft, his expression sad. “And that you are… That you think that is a natural reaction necessary toward me… You have no idea how much this upsets me.”

“It does?” She watched him closely, and she could not deny how ashamed he appeared. Stranger still, it made her feel awful, as if she was wrong to have felt that way.

“Are you scared of me, Arabella?” he asked.

“I…” She considered the question. “No, I am not.” Slowly, she drew herself up and looked right at him. The fear was gone, and she wanted him to know that she was telling him the truth. “I do not fear you, Caspian. But I did the wrong thing, and you are right to be upset with me.”

“Your father is who I am upset with,” he said. “And that is something I will deal with later. But that you could not come to me with this…” He shook his head to himself. “That is a problem I must deal with now.”

“Oh…” She swallowed. “What do you mean?”

Caspian looked at her for a moment, but it was more like he was staring through her, his mind elsewhere. His brow furrowed, and he stayed silent as shadows flickered behind his eyes, wrestling with thoughts she could not understand.

And then, without a word, he turned and strode across the room toward the door. When he reached it, he shut it, trapping them both inside. Alone.

Arabella’s eyes widened, and her heart leaped through her throat. Whatever it was that he was about to say and do, she had the distinct impression that it might change this marriage once and for all. And while she knew what she wanted, did Caspian? And would he admit it?

She eyed the closed door. She then looked at her husband and how serious he had become. Whatever this was, she knew it would change everything.

Chapter Twenty-One

“You know by now that I did not wish to marry,” he began as he crossed the room back toward her. Arabella stood perfectly still, unsure of what was about to happen, while knowing that it would be hugely significant. “I did so for Timothy, as you are aware. But as to why that was what forced me… Why, if not for him, I would have stayed single for the rest of my life. You deserve to know the truth.”

Arabella had no idea what to say.

Caspian stopped just a few feet from where she stood, and her eyes flicked past him to the closed door. Alone as they were, it heightened the tension, increased the intimacy, and had Arabella locked in place, for fear that speaking or moving might ruin the moment.

“Your relationship with your father is strained,” he continued. As he spoke, he looked past her, as if he was focused on something in the distance… or something in the past. “I should have understood the significance of this earlier, Arabella. I should have seen how similar we are, in so many ways.”

He chuckled at that, bitterly, shaking his head as if such a comment was absurd.

“What do you mean?”

“My father was a cruel man,” he continued darkly. “Growing up, he ran his home with fear and wickedness. He treated me with coldness, while he treated my mother as if she were a possession. Worse still, only we knew this side of him…” His lips curled with distaste. “To the public, he was well-respected, liked by most, a perfect member of high society. But behind closed doors…” A fire burned behind his eyes, as if he were reliving the memories in real time. “I loathed him, Arabella. And as much as I did, considering the type of man he was, I wonder sometimes if I did not hate him enough.”

Still, Arabella said nothing.

She noticed how close Caspian was to her—only two or three feet away. She also felt him loom over her, blocking the rest of the room, his width and size like a wall she could not escape. And she could sense the pain in his voice; never before had he been this vulnerable, this honest, this real.

Why is he telling me this now? And what does it really mean?

“I was happy when he died,” Caspian continued with the same level of intensity. “I thought…” He grimaced. “I thought that with his death, I could forget him and what he did. To ignore that part of my life forever, that this would be my ultimate revenge. What I did not realize until later was just how deep my father’s legacy ran. It…” He winced and looked away as if in shame. “He is a part of me. Too often, I see myself in him. And try as I might, I can never escape him.”

Arabella wanted to reach out and touch Caspian on the arm. She could see that he was hurting, that he needed her. But she suspected, too, that he was not ready for such a thing. Whatever this was, Caspian needed space to let it out, to change.

“You think yourself to be trapped by your father.” His head snapped up, and he looked right at her; his eyes glazed and watery, hate and pity reflected in them. “It is nothing compared to what I live with every day. My greatest fear is that if I am not careful, then I will turn out to be just like him. Timothy… He deserves a father, but a better one than I can be. And you? You deserve a husband, but if I dare to try…” He clenched his teeth as if each word was a struggle. “If I become my father, that is a life I would not wish upon anyone. You, most of all.”

She nodded carefully. “That is why…”

“You are braver than you think, Arabella.” His voice turned soft, almost proud. “That you were able to tell me about your father at all is proof that he does not own you. Since you have come into this home, you have changed so much, grown beyond him so that he does not own you.”

She shook her head. “He still does. I thought he did not, but…”

“No,” he said sharply. “He does not.” Then, he took a step toward her, quickly, and Arabella gasped to find Caspian so close. “I am sorry for what I have done to you, Arabella. I should have… To force this marriage… To trap you…” He held her in his stare as if he needed her to see how sorry he was. “But please know, I will never do to you what my father did to my mother. And if your father ever tries to control you again, I will save you from him. Whatever you might think of me, know that to be true. You freed yourself from him, and that needs to matter.”

Arabella could not believe what she was hearing.

But just because she could not believe it, it did not mean the words did not matter. And while she did not fully understand them yet, she knew he was trying to ease her suffering and doubt. Whatever Caspian was, he was not controlling. He truly cared.

“I know that now,” she said. “I do, Caspian. When my father came to me with this, I forgot who I was and all that had happened. I ought not to have. I ought to have understood that whatever this marriage is, it is better than what I left before.

He nodded firmly. “I do not want you to be scared of me, Arabella. I do not want you to think that… You are not a prisoner here. And if there is anything that you need, it is yours. I will not do to you what my father did to my mother and me.”

“Caspian…” Arabella looked at Caspian as if his words made no sense. She almost felt guilty. “Is that what you… I am not scared of you. I do not think you are a horrible person.”

“You do,” he said. “And that is⁠—”

“No,” she cut him off. “You are withdrawn. Isolated. Confusing…” She laughed softly. “You are many things, Caspian, but you are not evil. Please, do not think such things of yourself.”

He stood directly over her, so close that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to. As he gazed at her with that burning intensity, Arabella decided to take a chance.

For days now, she had felt confusion about Caspian and what he wanted. She had denied her own feelings, certain there was no point in having them. Finally, she was starting to see the truth, just as she was starting to see Caspian for who he truly was, and what he truly wanted.

All he needed was to be shown that it would not be the end of him; that he was not someone to be feared, and that whatever might happen between them, it would be for the best.

Taking that chance, she reached out and took his hand.

He flinched as their fingers touched, but he did not pull away. Instead, he stared at her hand, entwined through her fingers, seeming not to understand what she was doing, why she would do such a thing, after what he had just said.

But he is not pulling away, and that is what matters…

“I do not think that you are your father, Caspian,” she said as their fingers interlocked. “And I ought to know. Having grown up as I did, I have witnessed exactly what you described. I know fear. I know the feeling of a lack of control, the feeling of being trapped. And I tell you now, that is not what I feel with you.”

He still looked at their fingers. “It is not?”

“No.”

“What…” He swallowed. “What do you feel?”

It was a good question.

Where Caspian was concerned, Arabella felt many things. Confused, almost always. She never truly knew what he was thinking or what he wanted. And more than once, she had stopped and questioned everything about their relationship, convinced that it might be easier for them both if they simply avoided the other entirely.

But just as she felt those things, she knew there was so much more to it than that.

Their fingers on their right hands were interlocked. It sent a pulse up her arm and through her body. Arabella made sure to be looking right at him, wanting Caspian to see into her eyes so that she could feel his thoughts, as he could feel her own. And when their eyes met, she knew exactly what she had to say.

He does not control me, but that does not mean I do not want him to have some control when I need him. That is the difference.

“I feel safe, Caspian,” she said to him. “You are a good man, despite what you think. You took in your nephew as your own son to give him a better life. You married me to ensure that he had one. And when you did, you saved me from my father.”

“I had no choice,” he argued.

She shook her head. “My father controls me, not you. And you know well that you could have denied him. But I think that when you saw what he was, you saw your own father, and you married me not because you had to but because you wanted to. You wanted to save me from him, and if that does not prove how different you are from your own father, then I do not know what does.”

“You truly believe that?”

“It is not a question of what I believe,” she said. “It is the truth. And because of that, no matter what you say or what you do, I will always be grateful to you. You saved me,” she said again. “And do not ever forget that.”

He clutched her fingers but shook his head. “You did not need saving, Arabella. You are strong; you are stronger than you think.”

“So are you,” she said. “And as I have changed, I know that you can too.”

She could see the effect her words were having on him. His gratitude. His relief. And as he held her hand and looked down at her, Arabella knew that they had just taken a huge step forward in their relationship.

Hopefully, it is not the last one.

For a moment, Caspian just looked at her. It was a look that suggested he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes flicked from her face to her hand, then back to her eyes, and then to her lips. He paused on those lips, and Arabella felt the change take him.

“I do not want to be the type of husband who controls you, Arabella,” he began. “And yet, sometimes… You send me mixed messages.”

“Oh?”

“You want to be free, I know that. But I feel that there is a part of you that wants to be controlled. That you want a husband who dominates you. Who owns you completely…” His stare became hungry as he looked at her again.

She swallowed, and her heart began to race.

“It is confusing,” she admitted. “Because you are right. I want to be my own person, Caspian. But there are times when…” She swallowed again. “When the thought of you taking control is not the worst of things.”

“Very confusing,” he purred.

“I admit that I do not understand it,” she said, her body trembling at the realization of where this conversation was leading. “But perhaps together we could…” She swallowed again. “We could find the answer?”

He chuckled deeply. “I feel the same way. I do not want to be someone who controls you; however, there are times when I want nothing more. When you…” He groaned. “When you force such feelings in me. It is as if you want me to take control of you.”

“Sometimes I do.”

“And how will I know when those times are?”

“I do not think it is about control,” she said carefully as she slowly came to realize what it was that she wanted. “It is about being there for me. My father controlled me because it made him feel powerful. But you protect me, Caspian, not for your own sake, but for mine. I want you to be there for me, as a husband should be.”

“You want me?” he said the words in a whisper. “You want to be mine? Say it.”

She gasped. “I do. Completely and utterly.”

It was confusing, Arabella knew.

On one hand, she wanted her freedom and her own life, but on the other, the thought of her husband doing whatever he wanted to her was something that stirred strange feelings inside her. She remembered the ball when he had stepped in to protect her, declaring to everyone that she was his. Such an action should have made her angry, that belief that she did not need such a display.

There had to be a balance, Arabella decided. To be her own woman, while also wanting a husband willing to protect her and show her just how much she meant to him.

Is that not what a marriage is?

“The urge to ask what you desire…” With his other hand, Caspian took her under the chin, keeping her eyes on him. His touch was soft but powerful so that even if she wanted to pull away, she would not have been able to. “It battles against my own to show you what I know that you want.”

“You think that you know what I want?” she asked as her skin prickled from his touch. “Do you believe that you know me that well?”

“I do,” he growled.

“Then tell me,” she said. “Take control because I am sick of waiting, not knowing what you or I want. Show me.”

He clenched his jaw as if her words physically affected him; as if he fought against them. “You are mine,” he said through his clenched teeth. “It is time I make it so.”

She saw the fire light behind his eyes at those words. She saw the want and the desire burn through him. One hand held her right hand, the other was under her chin, and he licked his lips as he closed the small gap between them.

Finally, it looked as if Caspian was willing to admit what he wanted. As for what that was? Me. He wants me…

The kiss that came upon Arabella was expected, but it did not diminish its power. It was full and intense. It was heated and passionate. It was hungry, as if Caspian was on the verge of death before their lips touched. Really, it was everything that Arabella wanted and more.

She accepted the kiss without question.

Caspian released her hands, then took her by the waist and pulled her into him. Her hands grabbed his face, holding on as if he might never stop. Their mouths parted, their tongues started to dance, and they tasted each other without any hint of it ending.

Arabella felt that kiss throughout her body. She wanted this, she realized. For days now, she had denied such feelings; she had refused them, but only because she thought she had to. But that kiss, how clear it was that Caspian wanted it as much as she did, did away with those doubts.

“Arabella…” he moaned between each kiss. “I should never have…”

“I know,” she moaned back as she pawed at the back of his head and face.

“For so long…” He started down her neck. “I want you.”

“I know that you do…” She leaned back, closed her eyes, and let him ravish her with his lips. “And you have me.”

“Not yet,” he moaned. “But soon, I will.”

They kissed for several more seconds. Lips on lips. Lips on her face. Lips down her neck and then back to her mouth. He was an animal, hungry, devouring her piece by piece.

Suddenly, Caspian’s hands lifted her. She yelped, and her legs wrapped around his waist. He chuckled as his hands squeezed her buttocks before he carried her back and sat her on top of the correspondence desk. He brushed away the envelopes and letters, chuckling further as he did.

Her legs went to wrap around his waist, to hold him close as she so desperately wanted, but he pulled away. Her eyes widened, and she leaned back, worried for a moment that he meant to stop. Only, when she found his eyes, when she saw the look he held her in, she knew that was the opposite of his intentions.

A shudder ran up her spine. It felt like fear, at first, but she knew it was something else. Excitement, a sense of the unknown, paired with a newfound trust that she had for him. Whatever it was that he intended, she knew it was something she would want.

I need to trust him… I need to show him that I do.

“What are you…” Her voice cracked.

“I made a mistake the other night,” he growled. “One I will not make again.”

Her heart rose through her throat, and she felt a wetness grow between her thighs. On instinct, not knowing if it was right, she slowly opened her legs as if inviting him.

He grinned at her action as he took a step back. For a moment, he simply stood and watched her. She was perched on the desk, her legs spread wide, inviting him to something that she did not even understand. And Caspian’s eyes roamed her body, admiring and worshipping her as if she were the center of his world.

Caspian licked his lips and stepped forward. Then, wordlessly, he dropped to his knees.

“Caspian…” She gasped as he found himself between her legs. His hands on her knees, he spread them apart as he shuffled in closer. “I do not… What are you…”

“Do you trust me, Arabella?” On his knees, he looked up at her. That he would ask that question at all… That he would give her a chance to answer… That was enough for her to know what to say.

“I do,” she said, reaching out and touching his face. “I trust you.”

What happened next was not what Arabella had expected to happen when she first entered the drawing room. In fact, never in her wildest dreams might she have imagined it at all. Kissing was one thing. His fingers playing with her was something else. But what Caspian had in mind… ‘My only regret is that it took this long in the first place.’

He lifted her legs onto his shoulders as he moved forward. He picked up the skirt of her dress and put it over his head. Arabella leaned back, her legs spread, unable to see what her husband was doing, but able to feel him completely.

“Cas—oh!” She gasped and then moaned and then cried out as she felt his tongue lick at her opening.

Arabella had never felt such pleasure. She did not know it was possible!

She closed her eyes and tried to picture what Caspian must have been doing. His tongue, she was sure of it. It licked her opening, massaged her lips, and gently started to tickle the bundle of nerves that sat at the top of her womanhood. She felt them swell, throb, explode in his mouth as he licked faster and with more hunger.

The sensation rolled throughout her body. It covered her completely. All Arabella was able to do was close her eyes, grip the side of the desk for balance, and try her best not to scream.

She failed in that last endeavor.

Caspian’s tongue licked her. Then his lips wrapped her opening and started to suck. That sent an eruption up her body so that it stabbed right through her heart. Such pleasure, such intensity… The walls closed in around Arabella; she shut her eyes tight, and she let it take her completely.

He sucked and licked her breasts, the way that her body shook, and the sounds that escaped her lips as she no-so-silently begged him for more. It rolled up her body, it tore her apart, and then it somehow put her back together. And all in the space of a single breath.

“Oh… Caspian… Oh…” She moaned as he continued to pleasure her. “Do not… Keep going… Oh, God!”

He worked her expertly and thoroughly. He licked and sucked her as if he had one purpose only: her pleasure. But it was more than that. It was control, Arabella came to realize. For so long as Caspian had his mouth around her womanhood, he owned and dominated her completely and utterly so that she was his to command.

She did not mind it one little bit.

Perhaps that was what she wanted? That was the control that she craved. To be her own woman, yes, but to have Caspian in her life when she needed him… As she needed him right then and there.

Arabella thought that would be the height of the pleasure. Surely, things could not improve from there? How wrong she was…

As he sucked and licked between her thighs, Caspian gently slid two fingers inside of her. Her eyes shot open, and she caught her breath. Her body went rigid, folding in on itself, before she gasped and opened herself just as those fingers slid all the way inside of her.

“Caspian, I—” She bit down and started to tremble and shake as those fingers curled and stroked her walls. Gentle at first, then faster, and to the rhythm of his lips and tongue.

“Oh!” She felt it coming upon her. A fire was building deep inside. It started small, but as Caspian licked harder and faster, as he stroked his fingers, it rose up and up and up until she was consumed by the flames. “Caspian! Something is… I…”

That was when she screamed.

It was like an explosion of pleasure that nearly overwhelmed her, then somehow made her feel complete like never before. She wrapped her legs tightly around his head, held on for dear life, and screamed as her body writhed, spasmed, shook, and then erupted for the whole world to hear.

She could not breathe. She could not think. All she could do was lean back and allow Caspian to have her… She was his.

And when it was done, as the pleasure died away, as her breathing returned to normal, Caspian slowly pulled his fingers out, his lips back, lifted her dress, and looked up at her. His lips were wet. His stare was intense and purposeful. And once again, she felt trapped in his eyes; proof that she belonged to him, as he did to her.

“I am not going to run away this time, Arabella,” he said from his knees.

“You… You had better not,” she stammered, her breathing still heavy and intense. “Caspian, that was… I do not even know.”

“You will,” he said. “Because this is just the beginning.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

It was a day that one week ago might have been impossible to imagine, but one that suddenly felt so ordinary and so obvious that Arabella could not fathom how she had almost missed it. And because of this, she determined she would not take it for granted.

“Timothy!” Caspian shouted in alarm.

Arabella followed his gaze across the garden to see what was the matter. When she saw why Caspian had cried out with such obvious worry, she laughed.

“He is perfectly fine,” she assured Caspian.

“Are you certain?” He did not take his eyes off Timothy. “What if…” He winced, and his body stiffened. “It looks dangerous.”

“Likely, it is.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

She laughed again. And then, feeling that the moment was right, Arabella reached over and rested her hand on Caspian’s knee. She waited for him to notice, which took a moment because he was so focused on Timothy. But when he finally felt her hand, he looked down at it, and then up at her.

“He is a young boy,” she assured him. “They are supposed to get into trouble.”

“I do not see how breaking one’s neck constitutes trouble.”

“He will be fine,” she assured him as she squeezed his knee. “He has done this before, and he is yet to fall.”

Caspian did not look so sure. Again, he turned to find Timothy. He watched the boy for a moment, clearly worried. That time, Arabella took his hand instead, squeezed it, showing him that there was nothing to fear.

“I do love that you are so concerned,” she said to him. “As I am sure that Timothy appreciates it.”

“I doubt that he notices,” Caspian scoffed.

She laughed. “Probably not. But I do. So that is something, no?”

Again, he turned to find her looking at him. Holding his hand, he did not pull away. And as their gazes held, she felt Caspian relaxing slowly. That alone was proof that he wanted to believe her; that he trusted her.

“I am new to this,” he admitted with an embarrassed grimace. “Truly, I have no idea what I am doing.”

“That is why I am here,” she said, still holding his hand. “To show you how.”

It was incredible what could change in a day.

Yesterday, Arabella was certain that she and Caspian would never make this marriage work. He clearly did not want it to, and she had convinced herself that such things were for the best. It would never be a happy marriage, and that was something that she was just going to have to live with.

Today… Well, things could not be more different.

It had started when she was breaking her fast with Timothy. Having only just sat down, Arabella had almost cried out in surprise when Caspian walked into the breakfast room and asked if he could join them. And while Timothy had not said as much, Arabella saw how pleased the little boy was.

Once they finished eating, Caspian surprised her again. He asked what she and Timothy were doing and then asked if he could join them. He did not tell her; he did not make demands. Rather, he wanted her to give him permission.

Which, of course, she did.

That saw them all adjourn to the back garden together. There, Timothy ran about and played among the hedges. He laughed, and he skipped, and he took pleasure in knowing that both Arabella and Caspian were there watching him. As he did that, she and Caspian sat down on the grass together, enjoying both their company and being with their son.

Is that what he is? Our son? It feels so strange to say, but what else can he be but that?

It was the sight of Timothy climbing a tree that had Caspian worrying. He watched, with a rigged frame, as Timothy swung from a low branch, calling out for them to watch and admire his talent.

“He is happy that you are here,” Arabella told Caspian as they watched Timothy swing from the branch. “Truly, I know that he is.”

Caspian smiled at her. “It is well overdue. I have wanted to… for so long. I ought to have tried harder with Timothy sooner.”

“You are now,” she said. “That is what matters.”

“What of you?” Caspian asked her.

“What of me?”

He was still holding her hand, and he squeezed it as he looked at her. The sun shone behind him, so that his face was clear and the look in his eyes was unmissable. He admired her as he looked at her. And he appreciated her in ways that she was starting to understand and relish.

Those eyes… He could look at her with them all day, and she would get tired of it. Even better, she might spend much of that time wondering what was on his mind and whether it matched her own wicked thoughts.

“Are you happy that I am here?”

“Do you need to ask?” she said with a smile.

“I just did.”

She shook her head at him, smiling all the while. “Thrilled, in fact. Saying that you want one thing is easy, Caspian. But doing it? Proving your words? That is another matter entirely.”

“I meant what I said yesterday,” he told her. “I want to be better. To prove that I am not my father and that this marriage might be more than promised.”

“I know,” she said. “As I meant what I said to you. You are not him, and that you care so much…” She laughed at how awkward it was. “That is proof enough.”

That Caspian wanted to become a better man was one thing, and if that was all it was, Arabella would have considered herself lucky. While she knew she could be a good mother to Timothy, she also understood that a boy needed a father. Now that Caspian was willing to try and be that man, she was eager to see where things would go.

But it was more than that. So much more.

They had not spoken directly about what happened between them the previous evening. Such a conversation as that… I might die of embarrassment! But a sense of knowing hung between them, making every encounter, every conversation, and every stray look intense and purposeful.

Even now, outdoors and in public, Arabella felt the tension sitting with her and Caspian. He sat close to her, their hands held, their knees touching. Every few moments, his eyes would stray, tracing down her body, pausing on her lips and her chest and her thighs, and she would wonder what was on her mind, and if it matched what was on her own.

Hours later, she still felt his tongue between her legs. Hours later, she still remembered how her body had exploded as he had teased her. Hours later, those memories were so vivid that she wondered too often when something like that might happen between them again.

Should I ask it of him? Should I give permission, or should I wait for him to take control, as I know he wants to do?

And it was not as if Caspian had forgotten what they spoke about either. To test it, Arabella tried to pull her hand free at one point, only for Caspian to hold it tight and raise an eyebrow, letting her know he was still in control. That single action was enough to almost undo her completely.

Oh yes, that their marriage was finally finding its footing was a good thing, and she was so grateful for that. But the fact that it also meant that they might have more chances to explore one another, to experience those types of pleasure that were once the stuff of dreams… Well, it was no wonder that Arabella’s mood was so piqued.

“What is that?” Caspian asked her suddenly.

“What?” Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “What is what?”

“That look on your face just now,” he asked her coyly. “What are you thinking about?”

Why do I have the sense that he knows exactly what I am thinking about?

She considered telling him, but the timing was not right. Not outside, and Timothy was close by. However, Caspian looked at her, sensing what she wanted to say, and her cheeks kept flushing bright pink because she was just so eager to tell him…

Thankfully, the moment was interrupted when Arabella spied a footman hurrying from indoors, down the garden path, and straight toward them both.

“Your Grace!” the footman announced when he reached them. “A letter has arrived for you, just now.”

“Who is it from?” Caspian asked.

“Oh…” The footman blinked nervously. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but the letter is for Her Grace.” He held the letter out for Arabella.

Even without having to take it, she knew who it was from.

It was always going to come to this…

With a shaking hand, Arabella took the letter and saw immediately the seal that belonged to her father. No doubt, he was writing to her as a reminder that she do as he demanded. Did he suspect that she might waver? Or was he simply taking precautions?

“Your father?” Caspian asked, his voice suddenly dark.

“Yes…” She swallowed the lump that appeared in her throat.

She held the letter out as if it might suddenly catch alight. Hand still shaking, a cloud seemed to pass across the sun, darkening the day. For a moment, the happiness she felt, the safety and the comfort, faded and were gone, and she was back to being that same scared little girl.

“Arabella!” Timothy cried out suddenly. “Look at me! Look!”

It was Timothy’s joyous cry that snapped Arabella from her funk. She started and looked over, a smile spreading up her lips when she saw him waving at her. And then she laughed when he did a handstand, one that lasted a second before he crashed into the grass.

From there, Arabella pulled back even further.

She took note of Timothy, then of Caspian beside her. She looked over the garden, the townhouse… Her new life. What was she so afraid of? Why did she care at all what her father might do or say? He did not own her, and if he tried anything, Caspian would be there to see her through it.

That was what this marriage was. It was not about who controlled whom. It was not about personal freedoms. It was knowing that Caspian was there for her when she needed him, as she was there for him.

The lump in her throat vanished. The pit in her stomach was gone. And when she looked at the letter again, her hand was no longer shaking.

“Shall we read it together?” Caspian asked firmly.

“No,” she said and then laughed. “In fact, I do not think I will waste our time. “Here…” She held the letter back out for the footman to take. “Throw this away, will you? I do not wish to read it.”

“Your Grace.” The footman took the letter.

Caspian looked at her with a frown.

“What?” she asked when she saw him.

“Nothing…” He took her hand again and squeezed it. “Nothing at all.”

With that done, she turned with Caspian and went back to watching Timothy play. He tried another handstand and fell again. Then he tried a third time, able to hold it for a few seconds longer. Caspian laughed at his efforts; she laughed as well, and Arabella felt perfectly at peace.

This was her life now. Her father did not control her, and never before had she been so happy.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The following morning began in a way that was becoming predictable. Arabella found Timothy once he was dressed and ready for the day. They walked to the breakfast room together, and no sooner were they seated than did Caspian join them.

“I am not late, am I?” he asked as he strode into the room.

“Just on time,” she assured him.

He beamed as he walked down the table. As he passed Timothy’s chair, he stroked the boy on the head lovingly. Timothy accepted it, seeming to sit a little bit taller even.

How has he changed so much? Perhaps this is who he always has been, and he just needed to prove it to himself?

“So, what are your plans today?” Caspian asked as he sat down. “Or do you need me to make them for us?”

Indeed, he had changed so much. He no longer seemed unsure of himself, awkward at the idea of being open and emotionally available. He did not glower. He did not sneer or snarl. He was happy, Arabella realized, and truly proud of what he was becoming.

Arabella was much the same.

She had spent much of last evening thinking about what she had done with her father’s letter. There was still a small part of her that worried about it, knowing too well how furious her father would be. But whenever the fear threatened to take her, she thought of her husband, and that pushed the fear away.

It was late last evening when Arabella came to a realization that changed everything, or perhaps just confirmed what she had already known.

Yes, she wanted to be independent and free, and yes, she hated the idea of being controlled. For a time, she had assumed that marriage itself was the antithesis of this, and that she could not have both: freedom and marriage. She knew now how wrong she had been.

A marriage was a partnership. She was free, and she knew that Caspian would never try to control her or tell her what to do. But he was also there to help and protect her when she needed it. This did not mean that she was under his control, more that she had him by her side; an equal, not a master.

It was what her father never had; he viewed his wife and daughter as possessions to be owned. The same was true for Caspian’s father, who did not see marriage as a union of equals. Recognizing this difference was what would set her marriage apart from those they both grew up with, and that was why it would succeed.

So, she looked at him as he sat down. She studied her husband, reveling in their newfound companionship. And as she smiled at his son down the table, laughing at the faces that Timothy pulled, she began to realize that companionship and compatibility were not enough. There was a fluttering in her heart, a swelling in her chest, and she knew then what it meant.

Am I… is it possible that I am falling for my husband?

Stranger still, such a realization did not strike fear or reservation into her. Rather, she was excited about it and excited to see where it might lead.

What was more, she was excited to find out if Caspian might one day feel the same way about her.

“No plans today,” she told him once he turned back from Timothy. “Which means…” She grinned. “That you get to spend the day with us.”

He frowned as if confused. “That is assuming I want such a thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, I am sure that you are so busy.”

“No!” Timothy exclaimed. “You are not busy.” He glowered at Caspian as if daring him to say differently.

Caspian just laughed. “Well, perhaps I can move a few things around. In fact, I plan on it.”

It was at that moment that a footman hurried into the room.

“Your Grace,” he announced as he came to a stop by the end of the table. “Your carriage has just arrived.” He looked right at Arabella, so there could be no doubt who he spoke to.

She blinked. “My carriage?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said. “Send by the Dowager Duchess. Its driver claims that the two of you had plans today.”

Caspian scoffed. “And she accuses me of being busy.”

“Plans…” Arabella’s frown deepened. “I… I do not remember having plans.”

Did she? She tried her best to recall if the Dowager had asked her to spend the day, but she could not remember such an invitation. And it was so unlike Arabella to be forgetful like that.

Caspian laughed, and when she looked at him, he raised a knowing eyebrow. “Perhaps she wrote to you, and such a letter became lost…”

“Lost? How would that happen?”

He glanced quickly at Timothy before looking back at her. Again, his look was knowing, as was his grin. “I seem to remember an incident by the correspondence table that might have resulted in such a thing.”

“An incident…” Her eyes widened with understanding, and her cheeks turned so pink that she felt them burn. “Oh.”

“Incident? What happened?” Timothy asked.

Arabella could have died from embarrassment! She looked away, unable to meet Caspian’s knowing stare. And as Timothy questioned her again, Caspian simply laughed.

To be fair, it was rather amusing. Further to that point, Arabella was pleased that Caspian was willing to remind her of what they had done. Still, neither of them had mentioned it directly, so the fact that he brought it up showed it had been on his mind, just as it had been on hers.

“It looks as if I am busy today.” She widened her eyes with warning at Caspian. “Perhaps you and Timothy can spend the day together instead?”

“Oh…” Caspian leaned back, a moment of dread passing across his face.

“Yes!” Timothy cried. “Can we? Please!” He looked eagerly at Caspian, desperate for him to say yes.

Caspian saw Arabella watching him. He then looked at Timothy, who remained eager. And it was because of this that the dread faded from his face, replaced by a sense of excitement. He did, after all, want to be a better father, so what better chance was there than this?

“That sounds exactly like what I want to do,” he said.

“Tell the driver I will be out shortly,” Arabella told the footman. “Once I finish breaking my fast.”

They spent the next thirty minutes eating together. Nothing exciting was said. No great revelations were made. But it was easy, simple, effortless, and perfect. Finally, after having tried so hard, they were starting to turn into a family, and from the way Caspian smiled and Timothy beamed, Arabella knew that such things were not an accident and would not end abruptly.

This is my life now, and I could not be happier with it.

Arabella left once she finished breaking her fast, and things became awkward immediately.

Caspian was still seated at the head of the table, while Timothy sat one place down. Their plates were cleared promptly, which left them together. At first, Caspian said nothing, and Timothy joined him in silence, which was their only companion.

Well… this is thoroughly uncomfortable.

“How did you like breakfast?” he asked Timothy.

“It was good,” Timothy said as he fidgeted with his hands.

“Good,” Caspian said. “I am glad.” He clicked his tongue, still uncertain of how to proceed. “How is Miss White treating you?” he asked next. “Are you enjoying your lessons?”

Timothy shrugged. “They are fine.”

“Good,” Caspian said again.

Again, silence found them.

It had never occurred to Caspian how little time he had spent with Timothy. The boy had lived with him for three years, and while they had never been close during that time, he did not consider just how little they knew one another.

Mostly, his relationship with Timothy was through chastisement. Always, the boy was in trouble, and it was up to Caspian to ensure that he was kept in line. Not in a way that had Caspian punishing him, but surely Timothy saw Caspian as a firm hand and a strict reminder to be on his best behavior.

But spending time together as a father and son might? It was unheard of. And that was a problem… One that Caspian needed to fix.

“What…” He cleared his throat. “What would you like to do today?” he asked Timothy.

Timothy shrugged and continued to fidget with his hands. “I do not mind.”

“What would you and Arabella do if it were just the two of you?”

“Card games, mostly,” Timothy said. “Sometimes, we go for a walk. Or I might hide, and she will try to find me. But we do not have to do that if you do not want.” His brow furrowed, and he looked down at his lap. “I can… You do not have to spend time with me. I do not mind.”

Caspian winced, even rearing back as if struck.

He had known that his relationship with Timothy needed to improve, but he had had no idea just how bad it was. That Timothy assumed Caspian would rather be alone than spend the day with him… It hurt, quite frankly. Worse still, it was exactly how Caspian had always felt about his father.

“Card games?” Caspian tried to summon enthusiasm. “That sounds… fun.” And he failed miserably.

Timothy forced a smile. “Which is your favorite?”

Caspian did not have a favorite card game. At least not one that a boy should play. What was more, he did not think that such a thing was the way that he and Timothy ought to bond. That was for Timothy and Arabella, and if Caspian was going to grow close to the child, he needed something else.

Think Caspian. If you were eight years old, what would you want to do?

Caspian almost laughed at the thought of himself as an eight-year-old. When he was that age, he had not yet realized how much he hated his father, or how much his father hated him. Oh, how he used to idolize the man, desperate for his attention, always doing whatever it took for his father to notice him.

It was as Caspian walked down that sordid memory that something occurred to him—a faint reminder of a question he had once asked his own father, only to be thoroughly refused.

He could remember it like it was yesterday. He was ten, and he dared to knock on his father’s door to ask if he might take him for a horse ride. Caspian did not know how to at that time, and he was desperate to learn. What was more, he had been foolish enough to think that his father would say yes.

“Horse riding? Why would I waste my time with that? Be gone, boy. Ask one of the stable hands.” His father had then shooed him away, a look of utmost disgust on his face. That was the last time that Caspian had asked his father for anything.

“Say…” Caspian straightened up, a sudden pulse of excitement shooting through him. “I have an idea what we might do.”

Timothy looked awkwardly at him, as if worried about what the answer might be.

“Have you learned to ride a horse yet?” Caspian asked. “I have a sense that Miss White has been a little negligent with such things.”

“Horses?” Timothy brightened up immediately, and Caspian could literally see the thrill come to life behind his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes,” Caspian laughed. “You ought to learn to ride. And seeing as Arabella is not here…” Caspian grinned. “It is time I prove to you that Arabella is not the only one capable of having a good time with you. I can be just as fun. More so, even.”

Timothy laughed. “Yes! I mean…” He pulled back his excitement. “I would like that very much.”

Caspian breathed a sigh of relief. It was such a small thing, nothing out of the ordinary, an activity that any father and son would typically engage in. And that was why it mattered.

“Then it will be done,” he said. “Run upstairs, clean up, and meet me outside in thirty minutes.” Timothy jumped from his chair. “Oh, and Timothy…” Caspian raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yes?” Timothy paused, suddenly wary.

“When I say thirty minutes, I mean thirty minutes. If you are not there, I will go without you. So, try to be on time.” He winked. “If you think that you can.”

“I can! I will!” With that, Timothy turned and sprinted from the room.

As for Caspian? He breathed out a deep sigh, let his shoulders drop, and sank down in his chair. Relaxed, was how he felt, and a little too proud of himself. It was all well and good to spend time with Timothy when Arabella was there, but he needed to learn to do it on his own.

I am not my father…

That was a thought that Caspian repeated as he rose from his chair and made his way from the breakfast room. And to further prove the point, he realized he was not doing this because he thought he should, but because he wanted to.

Caspian wanted to spend time with Timothy, just as he wanted to be a better father to him than he had been. And that was why Caspian was different, and that was proof that he had changed.

No… not changed. I was always this way. It is only now that I am finally able to see it.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Arabella settled back in the carriage as it took off from the estate.

Her mood had never been better, and she let her positive feelings spread from her so that they seemed to fill the entire carriage. Outside, the sun shone brightly, and birds sang from the treetops, and she wondered if she might ever feel upset again.

Somehow, I doubt that I will.

That she had forgotten about her plans to see the Dowager was further proof of just how perfectly things were going between her and Caspian, too. In fact, she was glad that she was on her way to see the Dowager, because she was eager to tell the woman all that had happened.

It was funny, in some ways, that where once Arabella had idolized the Dowager, wanting to embody the same level of power and independence the woman possessed, she now wondered whether she needed such a thing. The Dowager had to be that way, as she was a widow, so it behooved her to look after herself where others might not. But Arabella had Caspian, and together, nothing could stop them.

Oh, I just know how happy she will be for me. For us.

As the carriage moved slowly down the road, her mind turned to Timothy. Arabella had noticed how unsure Caspian had been about spending the day alone with Timothy, but she reasoned that this was a good thing. Now that her relationship with him was coming along, he needed the same with his nephew.

And perhaps, by the time that she returned home, she would see that they had grown closer together too.

Yes, everything was going so well that she could scarcely contain her excitement.

It was because Arabella was in such a transcendent mood that she paid little attention to where the carriage was taking her. The Dowager lived nearby, a trip that would take less than thirty minutes, so she sat back and let the morning wash over her.

However, as the time dragged on, she came to realize that it was taking longer than it ought to do. Frowning to herself, Arabella sat up and looked out the window.

“That is strange…”

She recognized the scenery well enough, but there was something off about it. Her frown deepened as she tried to fathom why that was. She peered out the window, realizing that she knew the road that the carriage took, but failing to grasp why it felt so wrong…

That was when it struck her.

Her eyes widened, and she gasped.

What on earth…

Arabella scrambled across the carriage to where a small window opened to the driver’s feet. She pressed her head to it and spoke loudly so that he might hear her.

“Driver!” she called out. “Where are we going? This is not the way to the Dowager’s home.”

The driver did not respond.

“Driver!” she shouted. “Answer me, please!”

Again, he said nothing.

The reason for Arabella’s familiarity with the scenery was the same reason that she suddenly became panicked. This road… She knew it well as she had taken it hundreds of times in her youth. After all, it was the most direct route to her father’s home.

“Driver! Stop the carriage at once!”

Again, there was no response.

Panic took Arabella like a hand clasped around her heart. She fell back in the carriage, the walls closing in, and the dull realization growing as she came to understand what was going on.

The Dowager had not sent for her at all. There was no missed invitation. Rather, her father had sent for her, lied about the reason, and was now bringing her directly to him.

Arabella’s breathing turned heavy as she tried to find calm. More than that, she tried to find bravery. She had not done as her father commanded; he must have realized her betrayal, and now he was doing just as he told her that he would, as she had known, deep down, he would always do.

No… I cannot let him intimidate me. I am a duchess, and it is time my father realizes what that means.

She looked around the small carriage, painfully aware that she was alone. Even with her efforts at embodying that strength which she knew she possessed, Arabella wondered if it would be enough.

She spent the next ten minutes bracing herself for what was to come. Looking out the window, she soon recognized the street her father’s home sat on, and then she saw it. Worse still, standing by the front door, watching the carriage arrive, was her father.

He wore a satisfied smile. No anger found in his stare. No sense of rage. He appeared perfectly calm, which was somehow worse. And the fact that he had two large men with him suggested that this visit would end in more than a harsh conversation.

When the carriage came to a stop, Arabella sat herself up and took a deep breath. She needed to be brave. She needed to be commanding. She needed to refuse whatever her father said, proving to herself and him that he did not control her.

That was the idea anyway…

The door to the carriage opened, and her father stood on the other side. He shook his head sadly when he saw her, as if he was truly upset.

“It did not have to come to this, Arabella,” he said to her. “I warned you. I gave you ample opportunity to do what was right.”

“F—father,” she stammered pathetically. “Whatever it is you think to do, I should warn you that my husband⁠—”

“Will be too late,” he cut her off. “Perhaps he does care for you. Perhaps he means to protect you and keep you safe. In fact…” He flashed his eyes and chuckled wickedly. “I pray that he does. It is a little hard to use someone as bait when the person you are trying to blackmail cares not for that bait.”

“No…” She leaned back, looking about as if for an escape. “You cannot do this. I am a duchess… I… Caspian…”

“You really have changed, Arabella,” her father said, almost sounding impressed. “A few months ago, you would not have dared to betray me. I am almost proud of you. Truly, were things slightly different, I might just be. Alas, that is not the way of things.” He stepped back, and the two large men beside him stepped forward.

“What are you…” She pushed herself back in the carriage. “No! Please!”

The large men clambered into the carriage. It rocked back and forth with their weight. In a final bid to save herself, Arabella tried to duck beneath the two large men so that she might flee. But they were big, they blocked her way, and as she struggled, one of them pushed her roughly.

Her body smacked into the side of the carriage. Her head smashed into the wood. Pain lanced through her head; she cried out, and then she fell forward onto her knees.

The door was right there, light shining through it, and with her last bit of strength, she tried to call to freedom. However, her father blocked the way, and as he watched her try to escape, he merely shook his head.

“You really ought to have obeyed me, Arabella. Sadly, some people never learn.”

Those were the last words that she heard. A large hand grabbed her by the back of the head, and she was launched once more against the carriage wall. The world shook, she crashed hard onto the floor, and then darkness took her completely.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Caspian was in high spirits when he returned home from a day of riding with Timothy. It was only supposed to take up the morning, but plans often change, and this time it was for a good reason.

He had worried about how he and Timothy might get along should they be forced to spend too much time together. Although Timothy had lived with Caspian for over a year, they had rarely spent any time together beyond meals and short conversations. That was Caspian’s fault, the deep-seated worry that he would turn out like his father and thus ruin Timothy’s life if he tried to grow close to the boy.

Today had proven that Caspian had nothing to worry about.

They rode together from the estate, crossing empty fields and passing open farmlands. The journey started slowly, and Timothy got used to riding his horse, but he soon grew into it, and before long, he was moving at a pace that surprised Caspian.

“You are a natural,” he had told Timothy as he rode beside him. “Are you certain you have not done this before?”

“I have not!” Timothy had cried. “Honest!”

Caspian had narrowed his eyes as if suspicious. “I will believe you, for now. But if I were to find out that you had been sneaking out at night and stealing horses, I would not be surprised either.”

Timothy’s grin was as mischievous as ever. “Well… Not yet, I have not.”

It was easier than Caspian thought possible. For so long, he believed he was doing the boy a favor by avoiding him, only to learn that Timothy wanted to spend more time with him. He yearned for that companionship that only a father could provide, a gentle hand that was also firm, but non-threatening.

As they rode, as they enjoyed the day, Caspian marveled at how far he had come in such a short time. Just as he was sure to thank Arabella, because none of this would have been possible without her.

It was late in the afternoon when they stabled their horses. Timothy bounced up and down on the edge of his feet, watching Caspian hand the reins to the stable hand while instructing him on what to do.

“We rode them hard today, Timothy,” he explained to the boy. “Meaning that they need rest and recovery, to be treated well. The better you treat your horse, the better they will serve you. This is not to be neglected. Understand?”

“I do.” Timothy nodded, his serious expression telling Caspian he was committing it to memory.

“Good boy,” Caspian said. “Now, head inside and let Arabella know we are back. Then you need to get ready for supper. Go on,” he waved Timothy away. “I am sure she misses you.”

Timothy hesitated for just a moment. His brow furrowed as if in deep thought. And then, without saying anything, he stepped into Caspian and wrapped his little arms around Caspian’s waist.

Caspian started at the gesture. He stood frozen, completely baffled as to what was going on and what he should do about it. Try as he might, he could not recall a single time that he had hugged his own father, so that Timothy was doing this now… What on earth do I do in response?

In the end, he stroked the boy’s head, which seemed to be the right answer. Timothy stepped back, looked away shyly, even as he smiled, then hurried from the stables.

And there Caspian stood, staring after Timothy, still struggling to grasp what had just happened, while knowing of its significance. How had he been made to believe for so long that such companionship was a bad thing? How could he have been so wrong?

Needless to say, Caspian strolled into the manor a few minutes later with a smile on his face that was uncommon, but that he hoped would become a regular thing. Such was how things had changed.

Timothy stood in the foyer when he arrived, looking confused.

“Timothy, what are you doing? Where is Arabella?”

The boy shrugged. “She is not here. I looked for her, but they said she has not returned.”

“She has not…” Caspian blinked. “Are you certain?”

“Mrs. Roberston says so,” Timothy said. “Nor has she heard from her.”

That was strange, but not unheard of. A flare of panic roared to life inside of Caspian, but he forced it down as he reminded himself of who it was that he was dealing with. Arabella was not the helpless young lady she had once been. She was now a duchess, and few were more capable than she. At least he liked to believe so.

“She has likely lost track of the time,” he told Timothy. “Go and find Mrs. Robertson and have her assist you in cleaning up for supper.”

Once, Timothy might have argued. At the very least, he would have said that he was doing a thing and then done the opposite. But Caspian could tell this would not be the case this time. It was as if Timothy wanted to do as he was told; he wanted to prove to Caspian that he could.

So, the boy hurried up the stairs, and Caspian decided to get a little work done before he, too, would ready himself for supper.

He spent the next thirty minutes working. As he did, he listened for the arrival of Arabella, certain that she would be home at any moment. Penelope knew better than to keep her so that she would miss supper, and he had no doubt he would hear her entering the manor soon, and that would be that.

After thirty minutes of waiting, Arabella still had not arrived.

Again, Caspian tried not to panic, but it was becoming harder to do so. Despite his best efforts, images of Arabella in trouble intruded on his subconscious. What if her carriage were broken down? What if bandits had robbed her? What if… What if… What if she is in terrible danger while I sit here and do nothing?

He knew how determined Arabella was to prove her independence, and he wanted to give her that. But Caspian had also stopped pretending that he felt little for his wife, and while she wanted that independence, he wanted just as much to protect her.

That was, after all, the opposite of what his father would have done.

With that final thought, Caspian came to a decision. He would not go to Arabella’s rescue, as she did not need it. Rather, he would check on her. Somehow, that made it better.

“Mrs. Robertson!” Caspian called as he strode through the manor. “Mrs. Robertson!”

She appeared as if from nowhere. “Your Grace! Is there something you need?”

“I am taking a short trip to my cousin’s estate,” he explained without slowing down. “I ought to be gone for thirty minutes or so. Keep an eye on Timothy, please.”

“The Dowager?” Mrs. Roberston said. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” he was sure to say. “Just being cautious.”

He rode a single horse through the dim light of dusk at a pace that was not exactly safe, but he felt it was warranted. And as he rode, he tried his best to ignore that sense of dread that steadily built inside of him. He would arrive at his cousin’s, find Arabella there, and laugh at this little moment as overly cautious.

Also, he hoped that Arabella might find it sweet that he worried.

It was when Caspian arrived at his cousin’s home that he realized how wrong he had been, as he realized that worrying was exactly what he should have been doing from the beginning.

He found his cousin just sitting down for supper, alone, surprised to see him striding into her dining room.

“Caspian?” his cousin said, obviously confused. “What on earth are you doing here? If I had known you were coming, I might have had the table set for you. Or I would have told you I was busy, depending on my mood.”

“Arabella,” Caspian started as he strode down the table. “She is not here?”

“Arabella? No, of course not. Why would you say that?”

A pit opened wide in his stomach. “How long ago did she leave?”

The confused expression on his cousin’s face made that pit in Caspian’s stomach stretch so wide he thought it might swallow him whole. “Leave from where?”

“Fr—from here,” he stammered. “She has been here all day…” His cousin continued to look blankly at him. “You sent a carriage for her this morning and…” He trailed off as the obvious answer battered him across the head. “Oh no.”

“What? What happened?”

Suddenly, Caspian’s forced resolve to not worry, to not want to be overly controlling and protective, left him completely, swallowed by that gaping pit in his stomach. How could he have been so foolish? So blind?

What sort of husband am I that I might pretend everything is fine while my wife… He swallowed back that thought, unable to finish it for fear of what might have happened.

“Something has happened to Arabella,” he said to his cousin, his voice cracking with each word spoken. “Someone has…” He could not finish, but there was no need. Penelope saw the answer in his eyes, and she acted immediately.

“We cannot waste time!” She swept past him. “I will have every available member of staff searching for her. Do you have any notion of where to start?”

“No,” he said desperately. “I thought that she was here!”

“We will spread out, search the roads, and perhaps we will get lucky.”

It was a long shot, with little chance of working. Arabella had not gotten lost or become waylaid. She was lured somewhere, taken, and now trapped.

Caspian forced himself to focus, to think logically!

If his wife was taken, there was a reason, which meant whoever did so wanted something. And if they did, there was only one person whom they might ask.

“Send for George,” he told her. “Have him meet me at my home with as many men as he can gather.”

Penelope’s face whitened. “Are you sure that is necessary? What will you do?”

“I need to return home,” he said as he hurried across the room. “I have a feeling that whatever has happened, I need to be there.”

“Someone took her,” she said in understanding. “But why?”

“I do not know,” he said. “But I intend to find out.”

With that said, Caspian left his cousin’s home, climbed atop his horse, and rode it home as fast as it could travel. As he did, he allowed the images that he had previously denied himself to flood his mind. His wife in danger, scared, needing him like she never had before.

He pictured these things, let them fuel him, and promised himself that he would not rest until she was safe.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Arabella paced the small room frantically as she tried desperately to deny the fear that seemed so determined to consume her.

It was there, bubbling away beneath the surface so that it was all but impossible to ignore. Of course she was afraid! She had been tricked, kidnapped, and was now being held hostage by her own father, a man who she knew would go to unspeakable lengths to get what he wanted. To feel fear was to be human.

However, feeling afraid and letting it dominate her were two completely different things. While Arabella could do nothing to ignore her fear entirely, she could at the very least stop it from controlling her.

I am a duchess, no longer the same little girl I once was, and my father needs to understand that. I must show him that he does not control me.

So, she paced, and she planned what she might do… If anything could be done.

The room that she was in was locked tight, while the only window was boarded up so that she had no chance of escaping through it. Beyond the room was a small cabin in the middle of a forest; Arabella did not know the location of the forest. She had been trapped in the back of the carriage as she was taken to it, half-conscious, hardly able to move, let alone take note of her surroundings.

When the carriage arrived at the cabin, she was dragged inside by two large men. She did her best to look about, as if knowing where she was might make a difference. But all she saw were trees, and before long, she was being tossed into this small room.

There, she was left alone. For how long? She did not know. But it was dark outside, likely the same day as when she had been taken. Again, not that this mattered! Not that she could do anything!

I need to think! I know what my father wants, but how can I make him see that this will not work?

That was where she stalled. Arabella could posture however she wanted. She could stand up to her father and deny him his wishes. But at the end of the day, she was trapped here, Caspian had no idea where she was, and it would only be a matter of time until her father snapped…

The sound of the door unlocking had Arabella stop her pacing.

Again, the fear threatened to burst from her, but she shoved it down with desperation. She then turned to face the door, standing tall and proud, doing her best to look as if she were in complete control and that nothing her father could do or say could change that.

The door swung open, and her father stepped inside. As soon as he did, he swung the door shut, and she heard it lock again.

“Oh my,” he said when he saw her scowl at him. “What is it that you plan on doing with that, Arabella? Glaring at me until I let you go?”

“You have gone too far, Father,” she said with a hiss. “Kidnapping me? Whatever it is that you think you are going to achieve, you would be wise to let me go at once. If you do that, I promise I will forget this.”

He pushed his thin lips together as he studied her. “Yes, perhaps you are correct. This is rather extreme, is it not? I mean, who would ever guess that I might go through such lengths?”

“As I said, it is not too late.” She held her scowl on him. “Let me go and⁠—”

“Enough of that.” He waved her down with humor. “All this posturing, Arabella. Yes, yes, I understand. You are not the same little girl that you once were. You have grown and changed, and whatever else it is you need to tell yourself. I am very impressed.”

“I am not…” She bit back her urge to snap; to show any emotion that her father might use against her. “I am not posturing, Father. The simple fact is that you have kidnapped a duchess, and when it is found out, there will be consequences.”

His eyes flashed as if the thought excited him. “Oh, really? And what consequences might those be?”

“My husband will see you punished,” she said. “If you think he will simply let this go…” She scoffed. “Then you do not know him very well.”

“Your husband, is it? I thought that you were above needing such things? Is that not the point, here? That you are a duchess, so strong, so powerful, that you do not need your husband to protect you? Or have you not changed nearly as much as you claim?”

“I… That is not…” Arabella stammered, and she hated that she did. “Of course, my husband will be worried. And of course, he will do whatever he must to stop you. But that does not mean that I am going to let this stand. I am⁠—”

“Floundering,” he cut over her sharply. “That is what you are doing. On the one hand, you are so eager to prove to me that you are brave and assertive. On the other hand, you cannot help but evoke your husband’s name because deep down, he controls you.” He sniggered. “You think that you have changed, but you have not. As when you were a girl, always, you are somebody else’s. And do not waste time denying it, Arabella…” He sighed and shook his head. “It is beneath us both.”

Her father knew her too well.

Arabella wanted nothing more than to stand up to him. To deny his cruel assessment. To refuse whatever he said and prove that she had changed! I know I have changed… I know it.

But there was an undeniable truth to his words.

This was a circumstance that went beyond mere character growth and a newfound sense of place. Ultimately, Arabella was helpless before her father, and she could do nothing to stand up to him. Not really.

She needed Caspian… She needed him like she never had before.

“Ah, there she is,” her father chuckled as he saw her deflate. “Finally, my daughter has arrived. And faster than I expected. What a shame.”

She bowed her head pathetically. “What do you want, Father? You must know how hopeless this is. Caspian will find you before he pays any ransom you demand of him.”

“Is that what you think I am doing? Arabella, you underestimate me. Which is not a surprise, I suppose. If you had not, we would not be here in the first place. You really ought to have done as I told you. This is your fault, not mine.”

She looked at him with scorn, but that only delighted him further.

“I am not asking for a ransom,” he said. “At least not as you imagine it. What I am asking for is what I deserve after all that I have done for you, everything I have sacrificed. It is time that it is repaid.”

“Done for me? You have done nothing!”

“Says the woman now married to a duke!” he cried. “My doing, not your own.”

“That is not…” She sneered. “That had nothing to do with you.”

He scoffed. “Be that as it may, I am still owed, and I will be paid. What I need from you is simple, Arabella. All you have to do is stay here. To sit tight. To simply exist because even one as disappointing as you can achieve that much.”

Again, she looked at him with scorn, her body shaking.

“I have arranged a series of legal documents,” he continued. “Those that pertain to certain portions of property and inheritance rights as given to you by your marriage to the Duke. In signing them, I will be handed those rights, the property that I desire. All perfectly legal,” he assured her. “My lawyers have been thorough.”

She gasped. “You… You mean to steal⁠—”

“Nothing,” he cut her off. “I am not stealing a thing. The Duke is signing them over! Not everything, of course. I do not mean for you and His Grace to become beggars. Rather, it is a considerable fraction of your wealth. Again, it is what I am owed.”

Arabella found herself shaking her head. “That is… Caspian will never do that.”

“Of course he will,” he said. “As I told you, I have had my lawyers draw up the papers. It is perfectly legal. As well as binding,” he emphasized.

“But Caspian… Whatever you think you can make him do, you cannot control him.”

“And that is where you are wrong. I know that simply asking him to sign these papers would not convince him. And to ask you to talk him into it…” He shook his head. “Despite everything, you have changed a little, Arabella. Enough, anyhow, to convince yourself that you can refuse me. Thus, I have determined that an insurance policy of my own is needed.”

Her blood turned cold, and the fear that she had worked so hard to push down started to surge.

“You are that insurance policy. That is why you are here.” He looked at her with venom. “As we speak, men whom I have chosen for their… Let us call it their persuasion skills. They are on their way to the Duke’s residence right now, where they will tell him of the situation as it currently stands. As they will tell him that if he refuses to sign the papers, your life will be forfeit.”

“No!” she gasped.

“Yes,” he growled. “I was surprised to see how close you and His Grace have become, but as I was surprised, I was just as delighted. And if not him, that boy you two share… Timothy, is it? I am sure that my associates will happily use his safety to help convince the Duke, should he not care for you as I need him to do.”

Arabella trembled with fear, rage, and a stark desire to attack her father as if that would make any difference!

She glared at her father as if she might attack, but he just laughed. Though he was not a physically imposing man, he was taller and stronger than her, and years of being beaten down and made to feel like nothing had such an impact that Arabella could not even imagine attacking him.

He scoffed with derision to see her shrink back.

“Speaking of which… I did not come here to make deals or to gloat. I merely wanted you to know what is happening, so you realize there is nothing you can do to stop it. I warned you, Arabella, and you did not listen. This is your fault.”

With those words spoken, her father turned and left the room. As the door locked behind him, Arabella sank to the floor, a pathetic mess, returning once more to the girl she had always been—denied for so long, but now proven resolute.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Caspian strode into his manor expecting to be greeted by Mrs. Roberston, and if not her, by a member of the staff. Even Timothy, surely wondering where he and Arabella had gotten themselves to, might have met him in the foyer.

So, when Caspian entered the manor and found it empty, it gave him a reason to pause and panic.

He stopped dead and listened. The manor sat in a state of perfect silence, the kind that brought with it a sense of dread because in a home of this size with a dozen staff constantly moving throughout, to find perfect silence was to find that something terrible had happened.

“Mrs. Robertson!” he called out, and his voice echoed across the foyer. “Mrs. Robertson!”

“In here, Your Grace!” her voice cried from the dining room.

If Caspian were not so panicked, he might have taken a moment to consider why Mrs. Roberston was calling to him, rather than rushing to find him. But he was awash with fear for Arabella’s safety, he was filled with energy that made his body shake, and when he heard her call, he simply turned and strode to where she had called from.

A second later saw him walk into the dining room.

The moment that Caspian did so, he stopped dead, his stomach dropped, and he began to understand just how serious the situation was. Not only for Arabella, but for himself, and all those whom he cared for.

The entirety of the household staff was crammed into the dining room. Some sat around the table, while most stood awkwardly in small clumps. He saw Mrs. Roberston amongst them, but she was not his focus.

“Your Grace…” Stepping forward from his staff was a tall and gangly man whom Caspian did not know. He had a long nose, a skinny face, and hollow eyes. “It is so kind of you to join us.”

Caspian bared his teeth. “Who are you? Mrs. Robertson? What is going on?”

“Your Grace, I am so sorry.” Her voice cracked. “There was nothing I could do.”

“She is correct in that,” the gangly man said. “Do not blame her, for that would be to waste time. Rather, let us speak of what you might do to quicken this process and hopefully save lives while you are at it.”

“My wife! Where is—” Caspian took a single step forward but stopped dead when another man stepped beside the first. He was tall, also, but with shoulders that were wide and a neck so thick it stretched from shoulder to shoulder.

His size did not trouble Caspian in the least. Rather, it was the gun that he held in his hand that made Caspian falter.

“We are not here to hurt you, Your Grace,” the gangly man said simply. “Nor are we here to hurt anyone. In fact, I would prefer it if this were done clean and neat. Do as we say, and no harm needs to come to anyone. Yourself included.”

It came to Caspian then, quickly, and with painful clarity. The members of staff all looked fearful; their white faces were shaking terribly. The two men, one of them armed, had herded them into the room. And seeing as his wife was missing…

“You have taken my wife,” Caspian said.

“We have,” the gangly man agreed. “But she is safe, Your Grace. Which is important to consider. We do not want to harm her, but if you refuse us, harm will find her. So, again, let us do this simply and neatly.”

“Timothy?” Caspian searched the room. “Where is Timothy?”

Mrs. Robertson went to speak, but the gangly man cut her off. “He is upstairs, Your Grace. Also, under guard. And while I hesitate to believe that you care one whit about the safety of your employees, even I must believe that you care for the life of your nephew.”

Caspian trembled with bottled rage. Even with a gun pointed at him, he very much felt like charging the large man and beating him into the ground. But that Timothy was being watched over, and that Arabella was being kept somewhere that he did not know… Calm, Caspian. Remain calm until there is a reason to be otherwise.

“Who are you?” he growled at the gangly man.

“You may call me Mr. Tibbs,” the gangly man responded with a toothless smile. “And before you ask who I work for, all shall be revealed in time.”

“What do you want?”

“Finally, a question worth answering. But not here…” Mr. Tibbs looked at the large man with the gun and nodded once before turning back to Caspian. “Let us leave your staff with my friend for a moment. Do not worry, he will watch over them for us.”

“If he hurts any of them…”

Mr. Tibbs chuckled. “That will be up to you, Your Grace. Now, might you and I chat somewhere private? Perhaps your study? Business needs to be done.”

Caspian’s mind worked quickly.

He could not fight his way out of this situation… yet. But if he were to get Mr. Tibbs alone, he could certainly overpower the man. From there, he might be able to rescue Timothy, then take down the large man with the gun, and then find out where his wife was being kept.

It was not much of a plan, but it was the best he had.

“Everyone, listen closely.” Caspian swept his gaze across the terrified staff. “Do as you are asked. Keep your heads down. I promise, I will see us through this. You have my word.”

Mr. Tibbs chuckled. “Inspiring.”

“This way.” He fixed a glare on Mr. Tibbs, then turned and strode from the dining room.

“This is a lovely home, Your Grace,” Mr. Tibbs said as he followed Caspian into the foyer and towards the stairs. “Truly, I have been lucky enough to visit a few estates in my time, but this one…” He whistled softly. “Breathtaking.”

“I am glad you like it.”

“I very much do,” Mr. Tibbs said as he followed Caspian up the stairs. “As will my employer, I am sure.”

Caspian walked slowly as he listened to Mr. Tibbs following him. Then he smirked to himself as he settled on his plan. He would reach the top of the steps first, allow Mr. Tibbs to get close, and launch himself at the man. Caspian was bigger, stronger, and he knew how to fight.

Overpowering this weasel of a cretin should be no trouble…

Caspian reached the top of the stairs and turned, expecting to see Mr. Tibbs lumbering up after him. However, what he found had Caspian groaning, snarling, and cursing silently.

Mr. Tibbs had a pistol of his own, and he pointed it right at Caspian’s chest. “Did you really think I would risk being alone with you, Your Grace? Whatever you might think of me, I would appreciate some degree of respect.”

Caspian snarled at him. “You will not get away with this.”

“I will,” Mr. Tibbs said. “As well as my associate downstairs, I have another two men with me. One of them is with the boy—oh, I am sure they are having a wonderful time. The final one is in your study, awaiting us. And if you think my friend downstairs is intimidating…” He chuckled. “Just you wait and see.”

“What do you want?” Caspian growled. “Who are you working for?”

“All shall be revealed. Now…” He flicked his wrist toward the hallway. “After you.”

With no choice, Caspian turned and stalked down the hallway. From behind, he heard Mr. Tibbs following him.

Caspian hated this feeling. Helpless. Hopeless. At the mercy of another and unable to do anything to change it. Always, he was one who needed to be in control, and having that taken away from him was confronting and terrifying.

Worse still, he could not help but wonder what position his wife was in. And that she likely assumed that Caspian would save her… That he might not be able to do so brought such shame to Caspian that he could not stomach it.

No! I will find a way out of this.

When Caspian turned into the hallway that led to his study, he came to a stop. Standing down the end was another large man, and when he saw Caspian and Mr. Tibbs appear, he strode toward them.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Tibbs hissed and rushed past Caspian.

“The boy is missing,” the large man said in hushed tones. “I searched everywhere.”

“Clearly, you did not,” Mr. Tibbs snapped. “Honestly, the incompetence!”

Caspian chuckled, and he hoped that Mr. Tibbs heard it. He had lied about having Timothy under watch, and if Caspian knew Timothy like he thought that he did, the boy would be quite impossible to find unless he allowed it.

“Oh, is this funny?” Mr. Tibbs lost all composure as he turned and spat at Caspian.

“You lied about having Timothy,” Caspian said. “It makes me wonder what else you have lied about.”

“Wonder all you like,” Mr. Tibbs said darkly. “The boy is somewhere in the house, and we will find him. Even if we do not, we have your staff to play with. Not to mention…” He pointed his gun at Caspian again. “Your wife, and you. This changes nothing.”

Caspian shrugged. “If that is what you need to tell yourself.”

“I need to tell myself nothing!” He groaned and shut his eyes to think. “Stay close to me,” Mr. Tibbs snapped at the large man. “The boy matters not. Let him hide and cower. By the time he pokes his head out, we will be done here.”

The large man nodded once as he stepped into Caspian. He stood almost a foot taller than Caspian, and he towered over him as if trying to intimidate.

Caspian looked up at him with forced boredom, making sure that he gave nothing away. “Shall we continue?” Caspian then said. “Was it not you who wanted this done quickly and neatly?”

Mr. Tibbs laughed dryly. “Your study, Your Grace. Now.”

Caspian obliged, but he made sure to flash a smile as if he had everything under control. He did not, of course, but he enjoyed watching Mr. Tibbs lose his cool.

Unfortunately, any sense that Caspian was gaining the upper hand quickly vanished when he stepped into his study to find yet another man of gargantuan size waiting for him. This one had scars across his face, a matted beard that ran to his swollen belly, and a missing right eye. All in all, he was a truly grotesque figure.

“What, no gun?” Caspian asked as he walked into the study and made for his chair.

“One will do,” Mr. Tibbs said. “Now shall we be about business.”

Caspian sat down and surveyed the scene.

The large man with the missing right eye positioned himself right behind Caspian. He had no weapon, but that almost felt irrelevant. The other large man stood by the doorway, keeping it open, but he faced Caspian, crossed his arms, and fixed a warning glare. And finally, Mr. Tibbs sighed as he sat down across from Caspian. The gun remained nestled in his lap.

“We have your wife,” Mr. Tibbs began. “She is safe, for now. But she will not remain so unless you do exactly as we tell you to do.”

“Which is?”

Mr. Tibbs flashed a small. “In front of you is a folder. Please, open it.”

Caspian glanced down, saw the folder, and opened it as instructed. He scanned the pages found, and his eyes widened with recognition.

“And so, the final piece of the puzzle falls into place,” Mr. Tibbs chuckled. “What you see are legal documents pertaining to the ownership of this estate. Underneath that first document are various transfer documents that, when signed, will transfer a significant portion of your wealth to a new trustee. You will be signing them. Now.”

Caspian scanned the documents, and he growled when he noted the name of the so-called trustee, the one to whom Caspian would be handing over his estate and finances.

“Arabella’s father…” he snarled and snapped up his head. “He did this.”

“Are you surprised?” Mr. Tibbs said.

“He kidnapped his own daughter…” Caspian shook with anger. “He threatened her family, her nephew… He will not get away with this.”

“Your threats mean nothing to me, Your Grace,” Mr. Tibbs said. “I am merely a private contractor, hired for a singular task. That task is to see you sign those documents.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You will live,” Mr. Tibbs said. “That was an instruction we were made to know. But your wife will not, nor will Timothy, once we find him. And so it will be on you to live with the knowledge that you caused their deaths, that you chose your wealth and your home above them.”

Caspian trembled with such fury that the ground beneath him rattled.

It was all too perfect. And the irony was unmissable. He wondered what might have happened if the same thing had happened to his father, and Caspian and his mother had been kidnapped. Likely, his father would not have cared, happy to hoard his wealth and hold onto his status because that was his true love.

If I needed any more proof that I am not my father…

Caspian did not care about his wealth. He did not care about his estate. And he certainly did not care about his status amongst his peers. As he looked down at the documents, he realized that the only thing he truly cared about was those he loved.

Arabella, of course. Timothy also mattered more than Caspian could say. Beyond that, he cared for his staff’s well-being. Everyone in his home—they were his family, and there was nothing Caspian would not do to protect them.

When that thought settled, Caspian smiled.

“Something amusing, Your Grace?”

“No, not really…” With a sigh, Caspian picked up the quill and dipped it in ink. He would sign the papers. He would lose everything, while at the same time, nothing of real value would be lost. “I was just thinking about what I might do tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Mr. Tibbs frowned.

“When this is all over with,” Caspian said simply. “Assuming you keep your end of the bargain, and that nobody is hurt. I hope to spend my day with my wife.”

“How touching,” Mr. Tibbs said without emotion. “Now, sign the papers.”

What choice did he have? With his quill dipped in the pot of ink, Caspian braced himself to sign the papers, giving up almost everything he owned. His father would have been furious if he were alive to see it… Somehow, that almost makes this worth it.

Suddenly, something moved past the open doorway.

Caspian snapped his head up just in time to see Timothy poking his head inside. The little boy’s eyes were wide, wild, and as mischievous as ever, and it might have made Caspian smile, did it not fill him with such dread.

“Timothy! Run!”

The boy ducked away, barely dodging past the large man’s massive hands as he tried to snatch him.

“After him!” Mr. Tibbs cried out, and he turned in his chair. “You fool!” He then jumped up, which saw the gun on his lap tumble to the floor, which was the exact moment that the large men lumbered from the room.

And in those few quick seconds, Caspian acted.

With quill in hand, Caspian leaped to his feet, spun about in a wild flurry, and drove the point of the quill into the left eye socket of the scarred man standing over him. Its tip pierced his good eye; he let forth a roar that shook the room, and he tumbled back, crashing into the wall as he pawed desperately at the quill now sticking from his eyeball.

“No!” Mr. Tibbs cried to no avail.

Caspian dove over the desk, rolled onto the floor, and snatched up the pistol in one movement. A second later, and he was on his feet, the pistol aimed at Mr. Tibbs, who stood frozen; half-turned to run for the door, half reaching for the pistol that was now in Caspian’s hand.

“I have a new proposal for you, Mr. Tibbs,” Caspian snarled as he stared toward the gangly man. “Would you like to hear it?” From behind, Caspian heard the scarred man whimper.

Mr. Tibbs sneered. “You forget, I have your wife, and if you do not do what I say—argh!” His words were cut short when Caspian rammed the butt of the pistol into his nose.

Mr. Tibbs dropped to the floor in a heap, and Caspian stepped over him.

“Stay here,” he said as he strode toward the door. “I will be right back.”

Caspian stepped from the room and closed the door behind him. He might have liked to have secured Mr. Tibbs so that he could not escape, but Timothy was on his mind. And if he knew Timothy as he thought that he did, then he knew exactly where the boy had run to.

Sure enough, Caspian sprinted through the manor and burst onto the third floor. Down the hallway next, and he came to an abrupt halt when he found the large man on his knees, underneath a table in the hallway, pawing at the crawlspace where Timothy was hiding.

“Get back here,” the large man snarled.

Caspian strode down the hallway. He held the pistol like a baton. And by the time the large man realized what was happening, the butt of the pistol was being driven into the large man’s skull with a thwack.

The effect saw the large man’s body turn stiff, followed quickly by a thump as he collapsed onto the floor. Out cold.

“Timothy…” Caspian crouched down and softened his voice. “You can come out now.”

Timothy poked his head out, and to the boy’s credit, he did not look scared. “Did you get them?” he asked.

Caspian laughed. “Almost. Do you have someplace else to hide, Timothy? Somewhere they will not find you?”

Timothy grinned. “I do. Lots of places.”

“Good. Go there. Hide. And do not come out until I call for you. Do you understand?”

Timothy crawled from his hiding place, but he did not make a run for it. Rather, he looked at Caspian with obvious concern. “Is Arabella… Is she in danger?”

“She is,” Caspian said, seeing no need to lie. “But she will not be for long. Trust me, Timothy. I will find her. I promise.”

In response, Timothy threw himself at Caspian. His little arms wrapped around Caspian’s neck, and he held him as if in so doing no harm could come to him. And Caspian, not expecting the gesture, accepted it, holding Timothy back, wanting to never let go.

This is what it means to love another…

“Now go,” Caspian said as he pulled away. “Quickly, Timothy.”

Timothy did as he was told, darting down the hallway and vanishing from sight. With that taken care of, Caspian made his way back to his study.

“Mr. Tibbs.” Caspian stepped into his study, closed the door, and pointed his pistol at Mr. Tibbs. The gangly man was on his knees, blood pouring from his face, and the cool confidence he had been possessed of moments ago was nowhere to be seen. “You and I have much to discuss.”

Mr. Tibbs spoke quickly after that.

The large man who now had two missing eyes sat on the floor, weeping and thoroughly defeated. Mr. Tibbs skulked back to his chair, sat down, and told Caspian everything he wished to know.

“She is being held in a small cabin to the west of here,” he said bitterly and with a snarl. “Just beyond Rumheshire Grove. If you follow the main road, you cannot miss it.”

“Thank you for that,” Caspian said to him. “Now, as to what to do with you…” He eyed the large man with no eyes, figuring that for now, he was not a problem. “I would like to tie you up, but I am out of rope. And seeing as I cannot just leave you here…” He smirked down at Mr. Tibbs so he might see what Caspian had in mind.

Mr. Tibbs’s eyes widened. “No! Ple—” His plea was cut short as Caspian drove the butt of the pistol into the side of his head, knocking him out cold.

“Three down, one to go…”

As Caspian made his way through the manor, he ran through as many scenarios as he could for overpowering the final armed thug. The man had a pistol, as well as several hostages, and while Caspian could have burst into the dining room and taken his chances, that would have put people’s lives at risk.

What he needed was to be careful, sneaky, and catch the man by surprise somehow. Or, barring that, he could have used some help.

As it turned out, the second option became available.

It was as Caspian started down the stairway that the front door burst open and in charged none other than George and six armed men.

“Caspian!” George cried when he saw him. “Have you started the search? The Dowager told us everything!”

“George…” Caspian sighed with relief as he went to his best friend. “Your timing is impeccable.”

“Caspian…” George took note of the pistol. “Why do you have a gun?”

He was quick to tell George of the situation and just as quick to concoct a plan. The dining room, while large enough to house the staff, was by no means impenetrable. As well as the main doorway, there was another entrance via the kitchen, and as there was only one man in that room whom they needed to worry about… I almost feel bad for the man.

They charged the room together.

Through the front door, Caspian swept with three of the men whom George had brought. At the same time, George came in the rear, all with their gun out, all quick to converge on the large man before he realized what was happening.

People screamed. Some shouted. A vase was smashed. But no shots were fired, and within seconds the threat was secured.

“Go to my study,” Caspian instructed three of the men. “There you will find two more men. Neither are armed, but they need to be secured.” He then turned to two others. “On the third floor, you will find another large individual. Also unarmed but dangerous.”

The men hurried away to secure the danger and bring the house back into safety.

“George, I ask that you stay here and keep a watch on my home. Timothy is hiding somewhere; if you can find him and convince him to come out, good. If not, leave the boy. He will be safe.”

“What about you?” George asked. “Where are you going?”

It was a straightforward question with an equally simple answer.

Once, it might not have been. Even just a few weeks ago, the idea that Caspian would feel such peril for another’s safety, that he would do whatever he must to save someone whom he loved, was unthinkable. He was not one to care for others, and he had made it his life’s mission to be alone.

That was then, and this was now.

His wife was in danger, and until she was brought to safety, Caspian would not rest. With how he felt, he might very well set the world ablaze if that was what it took. There was no sense in lying to himself anymore. No point in denying his feelings. The simple fact was that he loved Arabella, as he knew that she loved him in return.

“I am going to rescue my wife,” he said.

With those words, Caspian swept from the house, climbed atop his horse, and took off into the night.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Once, not so long ago, if Arabella had faced the situation she currently found herself in, she would have given up. That was not the person she wanted to be, but a lifetime of being told what to do and how to do it, with no agency of her own, had turned her into that person.

Moreover, her father was the one who had kidnapped her, the person she had to confront. The very thought that she might have fought back was truly laughable.

I am not that person anymore!

It took some time for her to realize this, of course. After her father left her alone in that room, she spent longer than she was proud to admit on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, weeping with sadness and misery and loss. For how far she had believed that she had come, she was nothing, just a scared little girl owned completely by her father.

Slowly, however, she searched deep within herself for some semblance of bravery.

She cast her mind back to when she had first married the Duke, how unsure and scared she had been, and how she had determined to overcome that fear. She had risen to her role as a duchess, taking command of the household, not to mention her own life, and proven what she had always believed of herself: that she was more.

Her father did not own her. She was not the same little girl she had once been. And if she was to escape from this hellscape, she was going to need to do it on her own.

Caspian needs me… Timothy needs me. I will not fail them.

Resolve and steeled determination flooded through Arabella as she climbed to her feet. Belief swept her. She stood tall and proud, knowing she was not beaten.

Then, with her newfound self-confidence burning so intensely that she wondered if she might set the cabin on fire, she focused on escaping.

The single door was locked from the other side, and even if she somehow managed to get through, her father was there. She was not scared of him, and that was the truth, but she was not strong enough to overpower him either. More than that, he was dangerous, and she doubted he would resist the urge to hurt her if it came to that.

Her only other option was the boarded window.

Arabella hurried to it and tested the wooden planks that had been nailed into place. She tried to pry her fingers under them, clenched her jaw, arms trembling as she desperately pulled and bucked. But it was hopeless.

No! It is not hopeless. There must be something…

She swept her eyes across the small room. It was practically empty, save for a wooden wardrobe, an old desk, and a single bed. Arabella frowned as she considered, focusing on that bed, noting the iron framework and how rickety it was.

A smile flashed across her face as she hurried to the bed. She tested the frame’s iron bars, laughing as one wiggled loosely. Putting one foot on the bed, she took the iron bar with both hands and pulled, pulled, pulled with all her might.

That was when she heard a pop.

The iron bar sprang from the frame, and she tumbled back, almost falling over and landing on her face. She caught herself, however, then stood tall and proud and triumphant.

With the iron bar in hand, she went back to the boarded window. That time, she wedged the tip of the bar under one of the planks of wood, getting a firm hold, and then began using it like a lever.

It was hard going. Her hands began to burn, as did her arms. But the more she worked, the more she felt the planks of wood prying free.

“Come on…” she groaned as she pulled back. “Please… Please…”

The sounds of splintering wood answered her, followed by a loud crack as the plank of wood snapped free from its nail.

“Ha!” she cried out with joy.

She took that plank of wood with both hands, tore it free, and tossed it onto the floor. This created a small gap in the window, not big enough to crawl through, but big enough for her to grab another plank of wood with both hands. She did so, leaning back with all her might, slowly tearing a second plank from the window.

Arabella puffed and heaved. She was coated in sweat. But she looked at the gap she had made in the window, and her smile was one of victory.

My father does not control me…

There was nothing but forest beyond the cabin. It was dark too, so she could hardly see more than a few feet into the distance. But that did not matter. She would hurry into the night, try to find the main road, and somehow make it back home in time to stop Caspian from signing those papers.

With that thought in mind, she went to climb through the window.

“This is a sight I might have never expected.” The voice cut through Arabella’s attempted escape like a hammer smashing against a pane of glass. She gasped, released the window, and tumbled back.

She hit the ground hard, cried out, turned onto her stomach, and pushed herself to her knees. By the time that she did, her father stood right in front of her.

With a glare fixed on her face, Arabella looked up at her father. She needed him to see her anger and her defiance. She needed him to know that she was not broken.

“Again, Arabella, I cannot believe how much you have changed,” he said, almost sounding proud. “Not nearly enough, of course, but a little bit. A woman grown.”

She snarled at him. “I have changed more than that, Father. You do not own me.”

“That is where you are wrong,” he sighed and shook his head. “But as a father must do sometimes, lessons need to be taught. Hopefully, you are a fast learner, as you were when you were younger.” Moving with more speed than she thought possible, her father snatched her by the top of her head.

“No!” she cried out as he started to drag her across the floor. “Let me go!”

“Again, this is your fault!” he hissed as he pulled her. “Why can you not do as you are told!”

Arabella’s hands lashed out as she tried desperately to free herself. She bucked, and she writhed. She kicked to no avail. But as her father pulled her across the room, she saw the iron bar lying on the floor not too far away…

“Get off me!” With a final surge of strength, she half-turned her body and lashed out with her right hand. It found her father’s arm, smashing into it, seeing it bend as he cried out and released her.

“Argh!” he yelped, stumbling back.

Arabella scrambled across the floor. She reached the iron bar and grabbed it. Both her hands wrapped around the cool iron like a bat, and she quickly leaped to her feet and swung it with all her might.

Her father stepped back, the swing went wide, and then he pounced.

He grabbed her by the wrists and wrenched them apart. He squeezed so hard that she was forced to drop the iron bar; it clattered to the ground by their feet. And as he held her, he snarled into her face with such venomous fury that she felt it burning her.

“You… You will regret that,” he hissed.

“Let me go!” she screamed and snapped.

“As you wish!” He pushed her back, and she fell onto her rear. She then scrambled away, her back soon hitting the wall. She pressed herself against it as her father walked toward her. On the way, he picked up the iron bar.

He stood short as he looked down at her. His eyes were wild and wide. His teeth were bared. Never had she seen him so angry. And never had she been so afraid.

It was all well and good to stand up to a person, to prove that you could. But sometimes, such acts of bravery were pointless and did more harm than good. And from the way her father stood over her, Arabella knew that harm was exactly what she was about to experience.

Her father had won.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was dark as Caspian rode his horse; not so much as a sliver of light was available. The danger of riding as fast as he was could not be denied, but that did not stop Caspian from slowing down. If anything, he rode faster.

He was angry; of that there was no doubt. The need for vengeance burned hot inside of him; he would see it sated before the night was through. And more than once, he pictured what he might do when he came face to face with Lord Witherington.

Mostly, on that ride, Caspian found himself thinking about his wife.

Yes, some of it was conjuring of the danger she was in. Much of it was horrid images of her suffering; the fear that he was too late to save her. But through that, there was a light at the end of the darkness, and that was what Caspian tried his best to picture.

Caspian let his mind wander to the future. Tomorrow, the day after, and the one after that. He pictured himself and Arabella together, Timothy by their side, thinking about the family they might create once everything was settled. Most of all, he immersed himself in the feelings of what it meant to be both a father and a husband.

He was not his father. He had never been. For a time, he had worried that he might become that, and that if he were to let another into his life, they would pay the consequences. But if anything had been proven from tonight, it was that he had the capacity to care and to love and to put others before himself.

What was more, tonight proved beyond question what Caspian wanted most of all. Her name was Arabella, and he would save her.

Just as she has saved me…

Caspin followed the main road that Mr. Tibbs had told him about. It wound through forest and marsh and then more forest. For a time, he worried that he had been lied to and cursed himself for being such a fool for believing those lies.

But as that sense of dread started to compound, the road became more worn and narrower, the sense that this was a place few had ventured. Around him, the forest grew darker, creeping closer to the edges of the road, and if it had been dark before, that was nothing compared to the blackness that consumed all in sight.

Through the darkness, just as Caspian began to lose hope, he finally came across a cabin.

It sat alone in a small glade. Rundown with a sunken roof, overgrown trees, and shrubs crawling up the walls, he might have guessed that it was abandoned. However, the carriage parked beside it told Caspian immediately that he was in the right place. And if not that, the soft glow of orange light from the windows was the final indication.

He pulled the horse to a stop by the carriage and leaped down. Slowly, careful not to make a sound, Caspian crept inside.

Immediately, he heard soft voices… Pleading, it sounded like. A female’s voice that could only be Arabella’s. Over that voice, there was a dark growl, mocking laughter, and the final bit of proof that Caspian needed to know that he was in the right place.

He hurried through the small cabin, keeping silent, until he came upon an open doorway. There, he stopped short, and the moment of relief he had felt vanished quickly because what he saw sent fear through him the likes of which he had never known. Fear, and fury.

Lord Witherington stood with his back to Caspian, holding an iron bar in his right hand. While she was out of view, there was no missing Arabella; she was pressed against the wall, on her backside, looking up at her father with fear.

Caspian wasted no time.

“Lord Witherington…” He whipped out his pistol and pointed it at the man’s back. “Step away from my wife.”

“Caspian!” Arabella cried.

Lord Witherington clutched the iron bar firmer as he glanced over his shoulder. He saw Caspian, as he saw the pistol, and while most might have cowered back in fear, Lord Witherington did no such thing.

“Ah, Your Grace…” He flashed an evil smile. “This is a surprise. I take it that your being here means that my men failed? It is so hard to find good help these days.”

“I will say it again.” Caspian took a step forward, pistol still pointed. “Step away from my wife.”

“Do you mean to shoot me, Your Grace?”

“If I must.”

Lord Witherington continued to smile, and he kept the iron bar raised so that one quick stroke would see it come down on his daughter. “I hope you are a good shot. If you are not, you will not be given the chance for another.”

“Caspian—”

“Quiet!” Lord Witherington snapped at his daughter. He did not look at her, however. While he continued to stand facing her, he had his head turned so that Caspian was in his sights. “I did not want it to come to this, Your Grace. All I wanted was what I am owed.”

“And you thought that kidnapping your daughter was the way to get it? Threatening her and her family?”

“As you well know, that was not my first attempt. Alas, I have raised a rather petulant child who seems to take pleasure in testing the limits of what she can get away with.”

“Mourn your failed fatherhood all you want.” Caspian took another step into the room. “But first, step away from Arabella. Now!”

Lord Witherington looked at Caspian and the pistol, his mind turning. Then he turned back to Arabella, and Caspian saw his arm raise just a little.

Caspian fired the gun into the air. The shot was like the boom of a cannon, splitting Caspian’s ears. Arabella shrieked, and Lord Witherington jumped.

“That was a warning,” Caspian growled. “You will not have another.”

“I am at a loss,” Lord Witherington said, not moving. “If I do as you say, what then? Arrest me? Put me in chains? And all the while, I will be forced to watch my daughter live a life she would not have if not for me?”

“That or I could kill you now.”

“Perhaps that is for the best,” he sighed as if in acceptance. “But in death, it might be nice to know that my daughter will join me. We were so close once, you know? I would hate to lose her.”

“Wait!” Caspian cried out just as Lord Witherington lifted the iron bar. “We can… There is a third option!”

“Caspian…” his wife’s voice cracked, and through her father’s legs, Caspian saw the terror in her eyes. It was like a knife plunging through his chest, and he knew that there was nothing he would not do to save her.

“A third option, you say?” Lord Witherington said. “Pray do tell, what is it? But unless it ends with me getting what I want, I doubt it will be enough. I have always been greedy.”

“You leave,” Caspian said. “Tonight. You climb into your carriage and go far from here, never to be heard of again. I want you gone from not just this county, but the country. You exile yourself from high society, a ghost, so that you are forgotten by all unfortunate enough to have ever known you. If you do that, I will pretend that tonight never happened, and you can spend the rest of your life not having to look over your shoulder in fear, that niggling worry deep in the recesses of your depraved mind that I am hunting you.”

“Hmm…” Lord Witherington frowned. “That sounds suspiciously like me not getting what I want.”

“Your life is your reward.” Caspian pointed the gun at his head. “Which is more than you deserve.”

Caspian could see almost right away that Lord Witherington was not going to accept the offer. He still stood facing Arabella. He still held that iron bar in the air. And he still had a look on his face that reeked of depravity. The man had lost his mind, and Caspian had no doubt that he was willing to die.

He looked at his wife, pleading for her to trust him. She stared helplessly at him, not daring to move; her eyes flicked to the iron bar.

There was a fourth option, a dangerous one, and that was where Caspian’s mind settled. Where he might have liked to have just shot Lord Witherington, he could not guarantee that it would stop him from attacking Arabella, and that was a risk Caspian could not take.

“I have a fourth option,” Caspian said. “A final one.”

Lord Witherington laughed. “You are not much of a negotiator, Your Grace! But come on, let us hear it.”

“Catch.”

Caspian tossed the pistol in the air, straight towards Lord Witherington. Lord Witherington’s eyes lit up in surprise, then hunger, and on instinct, he turned fully to snatch the pistol from the air. That saw him lower the iron bar, which took Arabella out of danger, which gave Caspian his opening.

He charged forward like a bullet from a pistol.

Lord Witherington caught the pistol, and just as he did, Caspian wrapped his arms around the man’s waist, hoisted him from his feet, turned them both away from Arabella, and slammed the spindly lord into the hardwood of the cabin floor.

The earth groaned and shook as his body crunched and shattered.

Lord Witherington cried out, and the gun flew from his hand. Caspian, still on his feet, pressed one foot onto Lord Witherington’s chest and kept him pinned. And then, he bared his teeth like a wolf about to feast.

Lord Witherington held his hands out and smiled. “So… About that third option.”

“Arabella,” Caspian said. “Please fetch the pistol.”

She did so without hesitation, at which point she stood beside Caspian and aimed the gun at her father. Caspian glanced at her; he saw the rage in her eyes, and he worried for a moment that she was about to shoot him.

“Caspian,” she said as she pointed the gun. “Please, find something to tie my father up with.”

Her father’s eyes widened. “You said that you would let me go!”

“I have changed my mind.”

Caspian nodded once at her command and then hurried from the room in search of something. As luck had it, he found some old rope in the main room. It was worn and moldy, but it would more than do the job.

When he returned, he was delighted to see that Arabella had not moved an inch; she pointed that gun as if she meant to use it. As if she wanted to. She did not tremble. She did not balk. She stared her father down in a way that proved his words beyond question.

She was no longer trapped by him, no longer under his control, and Caspian had never been prouder.

Caspian quickly tied Lord Witherington’s hands behind his back, hoisted him to his feet, and led him from the house with Arabella by his side. The carriage Lord Witherington had arrived in sat parked and waiting, and Caspian opened the door and shoved him inside.

“What will you do?” he asked as he fell onto his face. “If you allow me to leave, I promise that you will never hear from me again! I will leave.” He looked pleadingly at his daughter.

Arabella stared coldly at her father. “Caspian, please close the door.”

“Wait!”

Caspian did as bid and slammed the door closed.

They followed him outside from there and watched as he climbed onto the carriage. He took the reins and looked down at them a final time.

Once the door was closed, Caspian turned and found his wife. She had lowered her pistol. She had started to shake as the adrenaline left her. But when he met her eyes, when he held them in his gaze, Caspian knew one more thing to be true of tonight: never had he seen someone so beautiful, and never had he loved someone as much as he did her.

Chapter Thirty

It was hard to express how Arabella felt in that moment.

There was still a small tingling sensation running through her body that was the last vestiges of fear felt since her father had nearly beaten her, and when she had thought that her life was forfeit.

There was also that distinct feeling of pride at what she had done. That she had stood up to her father once and for all. That she had defeated him resolutely. And that she was now free from him once and for all. From that day on, when she thought of her father, it would be as a sniveling coward begging to be let free, and never would he control her again.

Mostly, what she felt pertained to Caspian.

They stood beside the carriage, able to hear her father still begging to be let go. When Caspian had burst in to save her, she had wanted him to shoot her father dead; she had silently begged for it. She was not surprised that he had come for her, because she knew that he would do so. What surprised her most was his self-control.

He had saved her, but in so doing, he had proven who he really was.

“Arabella…” Caspian’s voice broke through her machinations. “Are you…”

She shook her head and looked at her husband. His breathing was heavy. He had never looked so tired. And while he still carried a weight on his shoulders, worry for her safety, that weight gently lifted as their eyes held, and he saw that she was safe.

“I am fine, Caspian,” she said. “Thanks to you.”

He shook his head. “I should have never… This should not have happened in the first place. That I allowed you to be put in danger⁠—”

“Allowed me?” She cut him off and raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you did?”

“I…” He hesitated. “When I learned that you had been taken, Arabella, I believed that… I thought… I have never been so afraid. And I knew that there was nothing I would not do to save you.”

“Which you did.”

“I almost failed.”

She laughed and shook her head. “How does one almost fail?”

“I am sorry,” he said desperately. “Please know that I will never let something like this happen again.”

She knew that he was just saying what he thought he needed to say. As she knew that she ought to have accepted his words because they were kind and right and meant the world to her. But she also knew that such a thing would do them no favors.

Arabella had spent much time of late thinking about her relationship with Caspian. It was confusing, and that was because she had thought it went against the very thing that she believed she wanted more than anything.

To be her own person, to have her own agency, to not rely on others. Was that not the entire point of her marriage? That she had needed Caspian to save her should not have only frustrated her but also angered her.

And yet, I do not care.

What Arabella really wanted, and this was what she came to understand as she looked at her husband, was a marriage. Plain and simple. Growing up, she had always assumed marriage to be unequal, with the wife subservient to the husband. For that reason, she had never much liked the idea of such a thing.

Such a way of being was not what she had with Caspian.

With Caspian, she was her own woman, but that did not mean she would never rely on him and need him. Yes, he had saved her today, but that did not take away her power. He saved her because he loved her, not because he owned her, and when the time came that he might need to be saved also, she would be there.

“You do not need to apologize, Caspian…” Arabella let the pistol in her hands fall to the dirt, and with that free hand, she reached up and cupped his face. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I allowed this to⁠—”

“No,” she cut him off with force. “You allowed nothing, nor did I. This was nobody’s fault but my fathers, and to blame anyone else would be to give him a free pass. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not.”

“He did this…” She smiled through the darkness as she held his face. “But you were the one who saved me. That is what I choose to focus on, and that is why I love you.”

He caught his breath when she said those words, and she felt his body turn rigid. Arabella’s eyes widened because she realized then that they had never said those words to one another.

A beat passed between them… A moment where she worried that he would retreat or deny his feelings. But then, he smiled, breathed out, and she knew what he was going to say before the words left his lips.

“As I love you, Arabella. I might have denied it, I might have refused it, but as tonight has proven, I love you more than words can describe. And while I know how much you hate to need rescuing, in this one instance, I hope you do not mind.”

She laughed. “You rescued me because you loved me, Caspian. That is the difference. You did not do it to prove something or to own me. That is why I love you.”

“You are so strong, Arabella. I love that about you. But more than that, I love how you give me strength.”

“That is why we work so well together.”

He chuckled. “You know of my father and my upbringing. You know why I was so resistant to this. But tonight made me realize that I am not him, nor was I ever. And I would have never understood that about myself if not for you.”

She smiled as she accepted his words.

And for a few seconds, they simply looked upon one another. It was dark outside that cabin; she could barely see him, but she felt him. She felt his eyes. She felt his heart. She felt his love for her as if it were blinding.

This marriage was not about control, but a partnership. And as he had her heart, she now had his.

“So…” she began softly, still holding his eyes. “What now?”

“Now? We return home. We start our lives together properly. I want to be a good husband to you and a good father to Timothy. I want to prove once and for all that I can be that.”

“Good. But first…” Her eyes flicked to his lips, and Caspian grinned.

“Ah, I almost forgot. Remind me, what happens in all the stories where the prince rescues the princess?”

She dropped her face. “I would not know, as I never read them. Besides, such a circumstance does not really apply here. And do not dare suggest it.”

His hand went to her waist. “I suggest nothing. But as I am yours, you are mine, Arabella. Do not forget that.”

“You had better prove it then,” she said.

“Do not tell me what to do.”

“And do not tell me what I can and cannot—” Her words were cut off by his kiss.

He caught her by surprise, but she accepted it, nonetheless. She took it fully, opening her mouth, her heart, and her soul to him. It was a kiss that confirmed all that had been said, showing not just their love but their passion. It sealed their marriage as true and proved its future beyond question.

As to what that future might hold? Arabella put that thought away for later. For now, she lived in the moment, lips pressed, tongues dancing, two becoming one. That was their marriage: two souls, one mind, and happiness found in the most unlikely of places.

Chapter Thirty-One

By the time they got home later that evening, Arabella was almost at her limit. She had felt her body weaken during the ride, and the only reason she had not succumbed to sleep was that she wanted to savor the moment for what it was.

She sat with Caspian in the driver’s seat of the carriage; her father was still locked away inside. She had her head rested on his shoulder, and he had one arm around her as if he meant to never let her go. She found safety and protection in his arms as he gently guided them home. She had never felt more at peace, and she did not want to miss a single second of it.

Alas, when they climbed from the carriage and wandered inside, Arabella’s desire to climb into bed and put this day behind her was quickly denied. The manor was full of people, and they converged on her and Caspian the moment they stepped through the doors.

“Good God!” Lord George Cavendish cried as he strode toward them. “Caspian, you look as if you have just been dragged by your feet behind a horse!”

Caspian had one arm around Arabella, and he held her close. “You ought to see the horse.”

“What happened?” It was the Dowager next, and she pushed through the staff with urgency. “Lord Cavendish told us as much as he could⁠—”

“Which was not a lot, truth be told,” Lord Cavendish cut in. “It is hard to get all the details when the storyteller rushes from the house as if it is on fire. Caspian, what happened?”

“Arabella! Caspian!” Timothy came next, and he ducked between their legs before launching himself at the two of them.

Arabella dropped to her knees and pulled Timothy into a hug.

“Was somebody worried about me?” she chuckled as she held him.

“I thought… I thought…” He sniffed back tears.

“Caspian told me how brave you were,” she said as she pulled back. “I might have been able to use your help. Next time,” she added with a wink.

His face grew determined. “I will.”

Caspian ruffled his hair. “I see you managed to coax Timothy out of his hiding spot.”

“It took some doing,” the Dowager sighed. “He was buried in like a tick.”

Timothy beamed. “Caspian told me to hide.”

“You did very well,” Caspian laughed.

“What happened, Caspian?” Lord Cavendish demanded. “Lord Witherington kidnapped Arabella? I saw the papers he wanted you to sign. Where is he?” He looked past them as if expecting Lord Cavendish to walk through the doors. “In chains, I hope.”

“We let him go.” Arabella stood up, but she kept a hand on Timothy’s head.

“You did what?”

“It is a long story,” Caspian answered for her. “And one I will gladly tell you all. But tomorrow…” He looked from his cousin to the Dowager to the staff, who all milled about the foyer. “For now, I want to apologize to you all for what you went through tonight, as well as thank you each for your bravery. Such a thing ought not to have happened, but you all handled yourself with aplomb.”

“We are just glad you are not hurt, Your Grace,” Mrs. Robertson said.

“As I am glad that you are not too,” Caspian said. “And George, where is Mr. Tibbs? And the rest?”

“We went for the local constable as soon as you left,” Lord Cavendish said. “They are right now on their way to the local jail. Tomorrow, you will need to see to their arrest. I will join you.”

“A task I relish. Speaking of which…” Caspian looked back towards the front door. “George, before you return home, I ask that you take the carriage parked outside and lead it into town. There is a passenger bound inside who needs attending to.”

“A passenger?” Lord Cavendish asked. “Who…” He trailed off when Caspian looked at him. “Ah, I see. Yes, I believe the local jail will have room for one more.”

“I am sure it will.”

“I suppose that means a drink is out of the question,” Lord Cavendish said. “Even if we are owed a story.”

Arabella winced. While she knew that a time would come when she might need to relive the events of the night, now was not the time. She was still desperately tired, worn through like an old cloak, and all she wanted was to be alone so that she might sleep.

And while she was about to say as much, it was Timothy who spoke up.

“She said no,” Timothy said loudly as he stood beside Arabella. “And my father asked that you all leave.” He firmed his face and nodded once.

Shock rippled across the room.

Part of it was due to Timothy’s command. Another part was because he called Caspian his father. Caspian clearly heard it, and the surprise on his face was obvious. But that surprise soon changed to a smile, and rarely had Arabella seen him look so touched.

“You heard the little man,” Caspian said. “I do thank you, George, for what you did, but we need rest. Tomorrow, I will come to you, I promise.”

“I suppose there is no point in making demands,” the Dowager said. She caught Arabella’s eyes and winked. “And if the lady of the house wants us gone, so be it. Come now.” She clapped her hands. “Let us leave.”

“Thank you,” Arabella said with relief.

“I shall visit you on the morrow.” The Dowager hugged her tightly. “And I am just so glad that you are safe.”

It took a few moments for everyone to leave. Hugs were given. Words of condolences were shared. Baron Witherington was taken to the local jail, where he would answer for everything he had done. And finally, they trickled from the manor as the staff made their way back to their postings.

“Mrs. Robertson…” Caspian called after the head maid. “Might you see Timothy to bed?”

“No!” Timothy said. “I do not want to leave you.”

Arabella dropped to her knees again so that she could better look at him. “And I love you for that. But I need my rest, Timothy. Tomorrow, I promise, you and I will spend all day together.”

“We will?” He beamed.

“So long as you do not mind losing at cards.”

He laughed and hugged her again. Then he hugged Caspian. And then Mrs. Robertson led him away.

It was as soon as they were left alone that Arabella finally felt the weariness take over her. It was as if all her energy was suddenly drained from her body, and she nearly collapsed on the spot.

“Arabella!” Caspian saw her sway, and his arms were around her immediately. “What happened? What is wrong?”

She put an arm around his neck and leaned into him. “Oh, nothing…” A yawn escaped her mouth. “I am just suddenly very tired.”

He exhaled. “That is all? I thought… I was not sure!”

Arabella laughed and then wrapped her other arm around his neck. “As much as I hate asking for help, Caspian, might you do me a small favor?” She battered her eyelashes tiredly at him. “If you do not mind.”

He pretended to sigh as if vexed, even as he scooped her into his arms. “Only because I love you.”

“A good thing you do,” she said as she snuggled into his arms, rather enjoying the feeling of being carried. “Otherwise, I would have spent the night on the floor.”

With her arms around Caspian’s neck and with her body held in his arms, Arabella was carried up the stairs and toward her bedroom. As she was, she felt her eyelids drop, and she very nearly gave in to the tiredness. She just felt so comfortable, so safe… Nothing to worry about but her need for sleep.

By the time they reached her room, she was almost out entirely. Dim images of Caspian carrying her across the room found their way into her conscience, and when she felt him lay her on the bed, her body relaxed completely and molded into the mattress.

“One moment…” Caspian heaved her into the middle of the bed, pulled the blankets over her, and arranged the pillows so that she was comfortable.

“My hero,” she said tiredly as she wiggled into the bedding.

He chuckled. “Sleep well, Arabella. Nobody deserves it more than you.”

She very nearly closed her eyes completely then. Only, as she heard Caspian’s footsteps walking across the room, she felt a sudden pang in her chest. It was a feeling similar to something being taken from her; emptiness, a hole that needed filling. What it was, she realized, was the need to keep Caspian in her sight.

“Caspian…” She spoke softly, her eyes half-closed. “Can I ask one more favor of you?”

“Only one,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“Do not leave me,” she said. “Not tonight. Please, I do not wish to be alone.”

If she had the strength to do so, she would have opened her eyes to see what look he wore on his face. But because she did not, she had to imagine it instead. She liked to imagine a smile, warmth filling his eyes, and nothing less than complete and utter love shared as he looked upon his wife.

“For you, Arabella? Anything.”

She smiled as she listened to him crossing the room. Her eyes were closed completely, but the smile grew as she felt him climb into bed. And it was as he snuggled in beside her, his arms wrapped around her body like a cocoon, that sleep finally found Arabella.

It was a dreamless sleep. It was also the best that she ever had. Wrapped in the arms of the man she loved, feeling perfectly safe and guarded, and knowing that when she opened her eyes the following morning, her life would never be the same again.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The world was a different place when Arabella woke up the following morning. She felt it as soon as she opened her eyes, an undeniable sense that something had changed.

The morning sun seemed to glow a little bit warmer as it spread across her face and warmed her. The bed was more comfortable than she remembered. There was nothing to bring worry or concern, no need to ponder on the difficulties that might be faced that day, and no confusion felt over what might come. Everything was perfect.

Oh yes, and that Arabella woke up to find herself in her husband’s arms was not such a bad thing either.

“You are awake…” Caspian’s soft voice whispered in her ear.

She smiled as she paused to savor the feeling of his arms around her. They wrapped her completely, holding her close to his chest, and if the world were to end right then and there, Arabella would die a happy woman. She had never felt so at peace.

“How could you tell?” she asked as she wiggled herself deeper into his arms.

“You want the truth?”

“Of course.”

“You stopped snoring.”

“Liar!” she cried out jokingly. “I do not snore.”

“Like a runaway carriage on a gravely road,” he chuckled. She pretended to try to wiggle free, and he held her tight. “All night too. I thought it would never end.”

She scoffed and stopped her struggling. “You could have left, if you wished. I certainly was not keeping you here.”

His answer was a kiss. He placed it on the side of her face, gentle and wet. It sent a pulse across her face and through her body, and she relaxed even more than she already had done; she melted into him.

“I could listen to it for the rest of my life,” he purred.

“Perhaps that can be arranged.”

They laughed together and, for a few seconds, simply enjoyed the moment for what it was. Their troubles were officially behind them, the days ahead were free to do whatever they wished, and because they would be doing it together, they both seemed to understand that such times were those to be worshipped.

“Are you hungry?” Caspian asked eventually.

As if on cue, Arabella’s stomach rumbled. She had not eaten since breakfast the previous morning, and it was only just then that she realized how famished she was.

Caspian laughed when he heard her stomach. “And there is my answer.”

“Timothy will likely be awake soon, too…” Slowly, Arabella clawed herself free of Caspian’s embrace and stretched her arms. “Best that we start the day.”

She rolled over and turned so that she could look upon her husband. He was dressed in the same clothes he had worn last evening, and Arabella suddenly realized she was too. Her gown was filthy, stiff from wear, and she did not want to even think about how her face must have looked.

“What is that look?” Caspian laughed when he saw her flinch.

She pretended to hide her face. “I ask that you leave at once, Caspian. You ought not see me like this. It might make you regret saving me last evening.”

“Arabella…” Caspian reached out and took her hand, pulling it away from her face. “Would you believe me if I told you that you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen? And that goes twice for this morning.”

She scoffed. “Lies.”

“Think what you will, but I mean every word.”

He was being honest, and Arabella knew that from the look in his eyes. He drank her in like a tonic, worshipping every inch of her, and it made her body tingle because she only just then realized where they were—and the implications of it.

Until last evening, she and Caspian had existed in a fractured state. Although they both knew what they wanted, Caspian was especially reluctant to admit it. And once he did, it was almost immediately denied.

Such denials were of the past, and from the way that Caspian continued to gaze upon her, she knew that was where they would remain.

“And what is that look?” she asked him as if shy.

His smile was both mischievous and coy. “I think you know…” His eyes then flicked down her body.

“Tell me.”

“We spoke about this, did we not? While I do like that you are able to stand up for yourself, there are some instances where you do not tell me what to do.”

“And what instance is that, exactly?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

They lay on their sides as they looked at one another. Caspian reached out with one hand and rested it under her chin. Arabella pretended to pull away, delighting in how he pinched her chin and forced her to look at him.

“Remember this, Arabella. You are mine. Today. Tomorrow. Forever.”

“I know I am,” she breathed as her heart started to race. “As you are mine too.”

She knew what was coming. How could she not? The way he held her chin. The way he gazed upon her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered. How close they lay. How her blood surged hot through her body. And then there was the very real fact that Caspian licked his lips, flicked his eyes to her lips, and shuffled in close so that their bodies nearly touched.

“I think…” He whispered and licked his lips as his other hand moved to her waist and pulled her forward. “That Timothy can wait for a few more hours.”

“I think so too,” she said in a whisper as she let him pull her leg over her waist. “Besides, I need to change out of these clothes, and that might take a while.”

“I can help you with that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am not only sure. I am eager…” He laughed gently, she joined in, and then Caspian leaned forward as he guided her lips to his.

It was not their first kiss. Nor was it their second. But as soon as their lips touched, Arabella knew that it was their most purposeful kiss yet. Gone were the games. No longer did they have to prove something. And that push-pull of denial versus desire was a thing of the past. For once, they could simply enjoy the kiss for what it was, and that made it all the better.

The kiss started softly but soon became intense.

Caspian released her chin, and his hand went through her hair as his mouth opened and his tongue dived inside of Arabella’s mouth. Their tongues licked and danced, their teeth nibbled where they could, and soft moans escaped them between each kiss.

Arabella felt the change in her body. It swept from her limbs and through her chest so that she could not control it. Without realizing what she was doing, she slid her leg further over Caspian, his hand went to her buttocks, and he pulled her onto him.

“Whoa!” she gasped as she found herself on top; her legs straddled both sides, and his hands gripped her backside.

“Good morning,” he chuckled.

“A very good morning,” she purred as she pushed her hips forward, leaned down, and started to kiss him again.

That was when the kisses grew in intensity. They became ravaged and hungry. Caspian’s hands pawed at her backside, her waist, anywhere that he could. She grabbed at his hair, ran her hands down his face, and clawed at his shirt.

“Caspian…” she moaned between kisses. “I want… I want…”

“Tell me,” he growled.

“I want you.”

“Then you shall have me.”

Arabella sat herself up. She was not asked to do so, but it felt as if she should. Caspian’s eyes widened as he drank her in, and his hands moved under the skirt of her gown and began to massage her thighs. That had them shaking, and she felt a pulse radiate between them.

Her gown opened at the front; it was intricate lacework. Caspian’s hands began to fumble, and she laughed to see him struggle and the concentration on his face. When he managed to see the corset come undone, she laughed further at the wonder that took his expression.

Her breasts released, he gaped, and his hands moved to her chest.

“Oh, Caspian…” She closed her eyes, threw back her head, and gave herself over to the pleasure of his busy hands. “Yes…”

She began to thrust her hips, not knowing what she was doing, while knowing that it was right. Between her thighs, she felt something hard poke her, and it had her yelping; her eyes opened, and she looked at him, and he grinned.

Next, Caspian moved to the skirt of her dress again. He shuffled it up, and while it was tight and awkward, Arabella raised her arms, and Caspian was able to sit up and lift the gown over her head. It came from her body, he tossed it across the room, and for the first time ever, Caspian saw his wife completely naked.

On instinct, Arabella moved to cover her body.

“No.” He took her arms and moved them away so that her breasts were fully exposed, as was her naked waist, as was her entire body. “Let me see. Let me enjoy you.”

Her skin flushed red with embarrassment and shyness. But she allowed him to pull back her hands, and a thrill rippled up her body at how much he worshipped her. She saw the hunger. She saw the want. She saw his thoughts compounding so that she could only imagine what he was thinking.

And while Arabella was a little embarrassed, she was just as excited.

“What do you…” She looked away shyly. “What do you think?”

“I think that I am in love.” Caspian sat up. He cupped her right breast, and he brought it to his mouth.

“Oh…” She gasped as he sucked her nipple. It stiffened in his mouth, and he moved to the next. “God… Yes…”

Her hands ran through his hair and pulled his face close so he could not pull away. Her naked body began to gyrate, her thighs clenched tight, and her husband gorged himself on her as if she was his last meal.

“Caspian…” she moaned as he suckled. “More. I want more…”

He pulled back, lips wet, and looked at her. His eyes sparkled, and while he was clearly ravished, he was just as infatuated. “So do I.”

That was when he fell back. His hands went toward her thighs, and she gaped, expecting him to touch her. Rather, he began to unlace his breeches. She giggled and ripped open his shirt to expose his chest. Another gasp as she took in the muscles that carved across his waist, the hair that covered his chest, and the sheer beauty of the man she now called her husband.

That was when she felt the wetness bloom between her thighs.

Caspian’s breeches became undone, and he lifted his knees to push her up, allowing him to shuffle them down his legs. From there, his member sprang free, and Arabella did not think; she simply grabbed it.

“Urgh…” His body went stiff as her hand wrapped its girth.

Arabella did not know what she was doing. She had never seen a male’s appendage before, let alone touched one. It was stiff between her hands; it throbbed gently, but it felt good in her palm, and the more she squeezed it, the more her husband responded.

“Like this?” she asked as she squeezed.

“Just like that…” He lay back down, his back arched, and she closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Arabella…”

She knew what was coming next. No expert by any stretch, Arabella had female friends who had discussed such things. It was said to be both painful and pleasurable. It was described as messy but also intimate. It was said to be something done only with the person you loved…

Caspian’s hands found their way under her backside again. He helped to lift her as she hung onto his member. Once she was propped up just enough, he took control of his manhood and gently guided it toward her.

“Arabella…” He found her eyes and waited until she was looking at him. Her body trembled with nervous energy and excitement. “Are you… Are you ready?”

“I think so?”

“Tell me if it is uncomfortable,” he said to her. “Tell me if you wish for me to stop.”

“I will.” Her heart was stuck in her throat, and while she was afraid, she knew that she wanted this. “Do it.”

“Your wish…” Caspian gently guided himself inside Arabella. Slowly, he guided his tip to her sex, then, just as slowly, lowered her with his knees. She breathed in, held her breath, went rigged as she felt him enter her. “… is my command.”

“Oh…”

It was indescribable. There was a bit of pain and discomfort, and Arabella willed herself through that. There was awkwardness and other sensations she did not know, but she continued on. And slowly, as she accepted her husband, the pain and discomfort left her. It started to feel right.

“Are you…” he asked once he was fully inside.

“I think so.” She breathed heavily and nodded.

He smiled and stroked her face as he gazed lovingly into her eyes. “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

His response was to start moving his hips.

“Oh!” Arabella fell forward, keeping her legs straddled around Caspian. She went to nuzzle her face into his neck, but he moved so that his lips found her instead.

Soon, they were locked in a passionate kiss, which provided a good distraction as Caspian gently and carefully thrust his hips up and down.

She tried to focus on the kiss, but that was impossible. Each time he moved his hips, it sent a spike of pleasure up her body that pierced her heart and chest. The pleasure was uncomfortable at first, and it made her breathing heavy and sporadic as she attempted to get used to it.

“Is that…” he breathed between kisses. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he moaned. “Keep going.”

He chuckled and did as she asked.

Slowly, the pleasure increased, as did the force of his movements. Long, deep thrusts, each one felt fully. It started between her thighs, waves of pleasure that bloomed like a flower and spread the faster he thrust. She could feel every inch of him inside of her, but not separate. Rather, it was a feeling of completeness.

“More,” she started to beg as she continued to kiss him. “More…”

Caspian wrapped his hand around the back of her head and pulled her face into his chest. His other hand gripped her buttocks, helping to move her as his hips thrust up and down. She pushed herself to her knees, her butt sticking out, giving him room to push himself in deep and hard.

“Yes…” she moaned into his chest. “Oh… Please… Yes…”

Caspian began to growl. He started to snarl. His thrusts became quick, sharp jabs. Then they turned long, slow, and purposeful. Then they picked up speed again.

Her naked body pressed against his naked torso. Sweat coated them both. She brought her head up and began to kiss and lick him; she just wanted to taste him! She did not care how.

This was more than sex. It was more than a physical connection. It was lovemaking, two bodies becoming one, the final piece of the puzzle that was their marriage. And the picture it created was more than Arabella believed was possible.

“Arabella…” he began suddenly as she felt his legs tremble. “I… I am…”

“Do it,” she commanded.

It was as she said those words that she felt it too. It was the same as when he had pleasured her with his tongue, only more. It started between her thighs, but it rose quickly across her body. It was a fire burning. It was a powder keg ready to explode. It was the world ending, yet in such a way that Arabella yearned for it.

And when it came upon her, Caspian thrust a final time, threw back his head, and roared. She did the same, letting the sensation take her so that she thought her body might be torn apart, only for the following implosion to stitch it back together. She pushed down her hips, their bodies wrapped completely, sounds escaping them both that were not for human ears.

Then… it was done.

But Arabella did not try to climb from her husband, nor did he push her off. She stayed right where she was, her body wrapped around him as his arms embraced her fully. Their breathing was heavy. Their hearts beat as one. And for a moment, they simply lay there…

“That was…” Caspian breathed. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” she said as she tried to piece her thoughts together. “Better than good. I… I wonder, can we start every morning like that?”

Caspian laughed. “I think that can be arranged.”

She pushed herself up and looked down at him. He was still laughing, and the way his eyes shone as he gazed up at her was all the confirmation she needed to know that the moment was more than either of them expected. It was perfection.

“I do love you, Caspian. So, do not dare to think about changing your mind. I will not allow it.”

“You will not allow it?” he raised an eyebrow at her. “Who do you think you are?”

“Your wife,” she said. “A duchess. And do not forget it.”

In answer, he pulled her forward, and they kissed again.

The world had felt like a different place when Arabella woke up earlier. There were many reasons for that, but the main one was the man she lay beside. He was more than a companion. He was more than a husband. He was more than the man she loved. He was her future, her happiness, just as she was his.

Today. Tomorrow. Always.

Epilogue

Caspian looked around the garden, taking note of the guests scattered throughout. There were dozens of them, most of whom he knew, many of whom he did not, and none of whom he felt the need to avoid as he might have once wanted to do.

It is quite bizarre how quickly things can change… And how grateful I am for it.

He thought back to the last time that his cousin had hosted a garden party—it was, in many ways, a replica of the one he was attending now. He had spent most of that event inside, trying to avoid socializing as he counted down the minutes until it was acceptable for him to leave.

Today, things could not have been more different.

Caspian stood near the center of the garden. Beside him was his wife, across from him was George, and with them were many other lords and ladies with whom Caspian enjoyed engaging in pleasant conversation. Some of them even had their daughters with them, but for once, they were not trying to force his attention on those daughters in a desperate attempt to see them married.

“I thought you said it was going to rain?” George pointed out as he looked to the sky. It was nothing but clear skies as far as they could see, no indication at all of a turn in the weather.

“I said that it might,” Caspian noted.

“He wished that it did,” Arabella chuckled. “So that we might have had an excuse not to come.”

“Lies,” Caspian sighed. “I never said such a thing.” He scowled at his wife, and she grinned wickedly. “Where is Timothy?” he asked, searching the garden.

He was not worried about the boy, nor did he think Timothy was hiding as he used to. Again, Caspian could not help but recall the last time they had attended a party like this one. Timothy had spent it hiding, which had been the final straw needed to change Caspian’s mind about marriage.

“He is with Penelope,” Arabella said. She indicated with a nod across the garden, through the crowds, where Timothy had his cousin watching him as he tried to do a handstand.

Caspian laughed. “He spent all week desperate to perfect it.”

“Oh, I know,” Arabella sighed. “I was with him for two hours yesterday. He refused to let me leave until he held it for thirty seconds.”

“Did he manage?”

She looked at him flatly. “Not even close.”

They laughed, and Caspian slipped his hand around her waist. He wanted to kiss her. More than that, he wanted to drag her inside and pick up from where they had left things this morning…

Careful, Caspian. Do not go down that path, for you might never leave it.

Typically, he caught his wife’s eyes, he saw the wickedness in them, and he knew that her mind was in the same place as his own. Where Caspian loved exploring with his wife, doing so whenever they had the chance, she loved it more.

In fact, if it were not for this garden party today, there was a good chance they would still be at home, in bed, making the most of their newfound passion and eagerness to prove who desired the other more.

“There you are!” Penelope swept toward them, and she looked frazzled. “Please, do me a favor and entertain the boy! I am too old for this.”

Caspian scoffed. “And here I always thought that you adored Timothy.”

“I do,” Penelope said. “But there is a limit!”

“Where did you go! Penelope!” Timothy raced in behind her, darting between legs until he put himself in the middle of the circle. “You were not watching! I almost did it!”

Penelope raised a questioning eyebrow at Timothy. “Now, why do I get the sense that you are exaggerating?”

“I was not!”

“Easy, Timothy.” Caspian rested a hand on Timothy’s shoulder and pulled him into himself and Arabella. “Let her rest a moment. She is older than you realize…” She smirked at Penelope.

“Oh, now you go too far!”

They all laughed together, none more than Arabella. It was an effortless conversation, a familiar one, and a perfect example of how far they had all come. Caspian looked from his cousin to Timothy to Arabella, and his heart swelled as he decided what they really were: a family.

“Did you know that this is where Caspian and Arabella met!” Timothy announced proudly as he stepped into the middle of the circle again.

“Oh, tell us more,” George cheered.

“It was thanks to me,” Timothy continued as he puffed out his chest. “Caspian was searching for me when he found Arabella. Without me, they would never have met.”

Arabella laughed. “Is that what Caspian told you?”

“It is the truth!”

“In a fashion,” Caspian agreed. “A tad more complicated than that, but… Well, let us give this one to him. Thank you, Timothy. We owe you.”

Again, they all laughed, and Timothy beamed.

“Caspian!” Timothy took Caspian’s hand. “Come watch!”

“Watch what?”

Timothy scrunched his face. “My handstand.”

Caspian looked pleadingly at Arabella, and she shrugged. “Go on then. I will not stop you.”

“I wish that you would…”

It was all in good fun. Caspian stepped forward and kissed his wife on the cheek. He rolled his eyes at Penelope. And he scowled at George, who laughed gaily. And then, he allowed himself to be pulled away and toward a patch of grass so that he could watch Timothy try to do a handstand.

Caspian’s life had changed so much these last couple of months.

And it was more than just the fact that he was happy. As he watched Timothy tumble and fall, laughing all the while, he looked back to find Arabella watching with a smile. Happiness was one thing, but it was that sense of completion that came with it.

He was more than just a husband. He was more than just a father. He was both, one piece of a whole that made up his family. As a boy, his father had told him that he would never have such a thing. Caspian had believed it, and he had spent his life living with that belief.

Not that this upset him. In many ways, he was glad he had given in to his father’s lies for so long, because if he had not, he would never have met Arabella, and that was a life not worth living. Just as having her to spend the rest of his days with was one he could not wait to live.

The End?

Extended Epilogue

Are you eager to take a peek on Caspian & Arabella’s future? Then enjoy this complimentary short story featuring their happily ever after.

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This will surely be the cherry on top heart suit

Preview: An Unwanted Bride for the Duke

“Tell me to walk away... because if you ask me to stay, I will ruin us both.”

When a lady must choose between marriage and becoming a nun, she chooses the most notorious Duke…who turns her down. Until watching another man court her becomes unbearable.

Chapter One

“It is quite dangerous, what you are doing, my lady.” Maria stood beside the bedchamber door clutching a dark wool cloak and a pair of riding gloves. The single candle burning upon the dressing table cast shadows across her face.

Seraphine took the cloak and fastened it quickly around her shoulders. “I am aware of that,” she whispered.

“Dangerous and perhaps a little mad,” Maria said.

“That as well,” Seraphine added.

Maria did not laugh. The absence of joviality only made Seraphine more aware of the pounding of her own heart. The house was quiet. Long silent corridors stretched beyond her bedchamber. Every servant had retired.

Midnight. Sneaking out of her home…former home.

The thought sent a fresh wave of irritation through her. Donmere House had belonged to her father. She had been born there. Learned to walk there. Learned to endure her father there.

Now William McConnaghy had arrived smiling and pleasant, only to inform her that she had thirty days to secure a husband or prepare herself for convent life at Westborough Abbey.

One month. Thirty days. Twenty-nine now.

The numbers haunted her, marching relentlessly through her thoughts as Maria handed her the gloves.

“You know that if you are discovered, there will be questions,” the maid whispered, watching her with open concern.

Seraphine tugged on the gloves and gave a faint shrug. “There are already questions.”

Maria folded her arms. “Yes, but these questions may involve why Lady Seraphine is creeping outside in the middle of the night.”

“I am taking my horse,” Seraphine pointed out as she pulled the second glove firmly into place. “You know that I need to do this,” she said quietly as she flexed her fingers inside her gloves. “Or I'll be living the life of a nun before the summer is out.”

Even now the words sounded absurd. A nun. At twenty years old. Because a cheerful, balding earl had decided efficiency was preferable to compassion. The more she thought about her cousin and his pronouncement, the more infuriated she became. The man had threatened to banish her to an abbey while eating lemon cake.

Who did that?

Maria's expression softened. “I know.” She stepped forward and adjusted the cloak around Seraphine's shoulders. “You deserve better than Westborough Abbey.”

Unexpected emotion tightened Seraphine's throat. Most of the household staff had watched her grow up. Many had endured her father's temper alongside her. They understood exactly what the new Lord Donmere’s ultimatum meant. They knew she was running out of time.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Maria nodded and opened the servants' passage door. “Quickly.”

Together they slipped into the narrow corridor. The old passageways threaded through Donmere House like hidden veins, allowing servants to move unseen between rooms. Tonight, they served a different purpose entirely. Every creak of a floorboard seemed thunderous in the silence. Every shadow appeared suspicious. Seraphine found herself listening for sounds that never came, a door opening, a footstep, or even the Earl’s voice.

Ridiculous.

The man was almost certainly asleep, yet she could not entirely dismiss the image of him emerging from the darkness in a nightcap and demanding explanations. Not that he frightened her. Well, not exactly. He was hardly imposing. Forty-one years old, short, pudgy, and balding. Yet somehow, he had managed to overturn her entire future in a single afternoon. That required a certain sort of power.

They reached the rear entrance without incident. Maria eased open the door, and cool night air rushed inside.

“God be with you,” Maria whispered.

Then Seraphine slipped outside. Freedom felt remarkably similar to terror. The stables loomed ahead through the darkness. She crossed the yard as quietly as possible, grateful that the stablemaster had proven sympathetic to her situation. Her favorite mare stood saddled and waiting.

“Good girl,” Seraphine murmured, stroking the horse's neck.

The mare nudged her shoulder affectionately. At least someone remained pleased to see her. Within moments she was mounted. The estate gates stood open ahead of her, and beyond them the road disappeared into darkness. For one brief instant she hesitated.

This is reckless. Wildly reckless.

If discovered, she would be ruined. If her father were alive, she would never have dared attempt such a thing. Then again, if her father were alive, she would not be facing exile to a convent. That thought hardened her resolve.

She tightened the reins, and the mare surged forward. The night swallowed them whole. Cool wind tugged strands of dark hair loose from beneath her hood as she leaned lower over the saddle. Her brown eyes remained fixed upon the road ahead.

She knew exactly where she was going. There was only one person who might be able to help. One person with enough influence to solve a problem of this magnitude.

The Duke of Wexford.

Her best friend's brother.

The Duke was powerful, respected, and connected in ways Seraphine could scarcely comprehend.

It was nearing midnight when Damien Harrington, Duke of Wexford, sat alone in his study at Wexford Manor, reviewing estate ledgers by the light of a single lamp. Most men would have delegated such work to a steward and retired hours ago. Damien trusted very few people with his finances.

Then a sharp knock echoed, breaking the silence.

Damien frowned and leaned back in his chair. “At this hour?”

Visitors were neither expected nor welcome. He set down his pen with deliberate care and listened.

No women I entertain would dare appear at my home uninvited, as I had established that rule years ago.

Which left only a handful of possibilities worth considering. His friend Benedict, or possibly his sister Thalia.

Damien rose from his chair and moved towards the door.

“Mr. James, see who it is,” Damien instructed, folding his hands behind his back.

“At once, Your Grace,” Mr. James replied with a respectful bow before departing.

Eventually Mr. James returned, his expression unusually careful. “Your Grace,” the butler said, pausing in the doorway with evident restraint.

“Well?” Damien asked.

“It is Lady Seraphine Fairchild,” Mr. James informed him.

Damien blinked once, then twice. “Lady Seraphine?” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. James confirmed with a slight inclination of his head.

Of all the names Damien expected to hear, hers had not been amongst them. Not even remotely.

“What the devil is she doing here?” Damien muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. Mr. James wisely did not answer.

Damien straightened his coat. He instructed, “Take her to the parlor.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” Mr. James replied.

Several moments later Damien entered the parlor Lady Seraphine stood beside the fireplace wrapped in a dark cloak, her posture flawless despite the unusual circumstances. The moment she saw him, she dipped into a curtsy. Prim, proper, and composed, she looked as though arriving alone at a duke's house near midnight were perfectly ordinary.

Damien fixed her with a dark look. “Are you trying to get me into scandal or into an early grave?” he asked coldly, crossing his arms over his chest.

She straightened immediately and met his gaze without flinching. Neither apologetic nor intimidated, she appeared remarkably calm.

Interesting.

He narrowed his gaze and continued to study her. He noticed her brown eyes and freckles across her cheeks.

“I apologize for the hour,” she said, clasping her hands neatly before her.

“You should apologize for the entire situation,” Damien replied, arching an eyebrow as he approached the fireplace.

A faint flush appeared on her cheeks, though she otherwise remained composed.

“I had little choice,” she answered, lifting her chin slightly.

Damien folded his arms more tightly across his chest. “That remains to be seen,” he said dryly, watching her carefully.

“What are you doing here Lady Seraphine?” he asked.

To his surprise, she immediately launched into a summary of events from two years earlier.

“I was the one who uncovered my father's schemes and exposed his plans. I protected your sister, Thalia when matters had become dangerous,” she said.

She reminded him how she had quietly helped save his family from disaster. Damien listened patiently, though he already knew every detail she recounted.

When she finally finished, he raised an eyebrow and regarded her steadily. “I am aware of all this,” he said, gesturing lightly with one hand.

She hesitated for a brief moment before continuing. “Then you know I helped,” she said, searching his face for a reaction.

“I do,” Damien replied with a short nod.

“And yet you appear unimpressed,” she observed, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“Because I fail to understand what any of this has to do with me tonight,” he answered, his tone remaining cool. Her shoulders straightened immediately.

Determination flashed across her face. She looked absurdly young and impossibly stubborn all at once.

“I require a favor,” she announced, clasping her hands more tightly together.

Of course she does.

Damien nearly laughed aloud at the predictability of it. “A favor,” he repeated, studying her expression.

“An eye for an eye,” Seraphine said firmly, refusing to look away. His amusement deepened at once. The audacity of her request was remarkable even by his standards.

“You arrive at my house after midnight, alone, and demand repayment?” he asked, taking a slow step closer.

“I politely requested repayment,” she corrected, lifting her chin.

“Sweetheart, there is nothing polite about this situation,” Damien replied with a faint smirk.

He crossed the room slowly, unable to resist testing her composure. Something about her fascinated him more than it should have. Most ladies would have been nervous standing alone with him at this hour. But Lady Seraphine stood upright with flawless posture and impeccable manners. Her self-control seemed almost unnatural. It made him want to test that, which was a tempting thought indeed.

He stopped directly before her, leaving little space between them. Close enough to notice the freckles scattered across her cheeks. Close enough to see her pulse flutter delicately at her throat. His fingers rose without permission and he tilted her chin upward. A sharp breath escaped her lips at the contact. The sound stirred something within him.

Good God.

Damien fought to keep his expression neutral despite the sudden rush of temptation. A reckless part of him imagined simply throwing her over his shoulder and returning her home himself. The image was absurd and strangely amusing. Another, far more wanton thought followed immediately after. He could pull her into his arms and watch that flawless composure crumble.

The desire arrived with alarming force, but Damien crushed it immediately. He would never be that careless with a lady's reputation. Never risk her future for his own amusement.

Seraphine lowered her gaze, apparently finding the carpet fascinating. She muttered something he could not quite hear. His thumb brushed lightly against her jaw before he spoke.

“Look at me when you ask for my help, sweetheart,” Damien said softly, tightening his hold just enough to keep her attention.

Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet his. Brown met green, and for one suspended moment neither of them moved. The room seemed strangely quiet around them.

Then she drew a steady breath and gathered her courage. “I need you to marry me, Your Grace.”

Chapter Two

Twice. Twice within the span of a few minutes this infuriating woman has managed to catch me off guard.

Damien took a step back, genuine shock flashing across his face before years of discipline buried it. That alone should have concerned him. He studied her carefully. Lady Seraphine Fairchild stood in the middle of his parlor, looking absurdly small against the dark furnishings and towering bookshelves, yet she met his gaze without flinching. Most people looked away when he fixed them with that calculating stare. She did not.

Interesting. Bold.

She mistook his silence for hesitation and rushed to fill it. “I know it sounds unreasonable,” she said, clasping her hands tighter before her.

“Yes,” Damien replied dryly, folding his arms across his chest.

“But if you consider it logically…”

“That is rarely a promising beginning,” he interrupted, one dark eyebrow lifting.

Seraphine ignored him entirely. “I helped your family. You know I did.”

“You did,” he agreed, watching her closely.

“And now I require help.” Her words began tumbling out faster. Damien noticed the signs immediately. The slight twisting of her fingers. The careful way she held herself. The tension beneath her composure.

She is anxious. Frightened, most likely. And trying desperately not to show it.

“I thought it was the easiest solution,” she continued. “You owe me a favor, I need a husband, and you need a wife.”

“I need a wife?” Damien asked raising a skeptical brow.

“Yes.” She pointed at him before apparently realizing what she was doing. “You have no wife.”

“An astute observation,” he responded with sarcasm.

“You have no courtship either,” she continued. “And Thalia once told me that you have no intention of marrying for love.”

Damien closed his eyes briefly.

Of course my sister has discussed my views on marriage with her friends. Of course she has.

“So truly,” Seraphine finished, lowering her hand again, “I am helping both of us.”

He stared at her. The silence stretched. Finally, she winced. “I realize it sounds better in my head.”

“Thank God,” Damien muttered.

A soft groan escaped her, and to his annoyance he found it amusing. Inside him, however, a far more serious battle had begun.

A wife is permanent. My wife lives in this house. A wife would occupy my thoughts. Having a wife matters.

And Damien had vowed long ago never to permit another person to have that kind of power over him. Love made people into fools. Love clouded judgement. Love weakened people.

No.

He would not marry.

Lady Seraphine finally stopped speaking. The silence that followed felt heavier than before. Slowly she lifted her eyes to his. The room seemed to narrow around them. Damien found himself noticing details he should not have noticed.

The dark sweep of her lashes. The small dimple on her cheek. The rosy flush lingered beneath her skin from the chilly night air. Her lips.

God help me. Her lips. And those ridiculous brown eyes. Hopeful. Pleading. Trusting.

That was the true danger. Not her beauty. Not even her proposal. The trust. She was looking at him as though he might save her.

The thought unsettled him far more than desire ever could. For one reckless second, he imagined crossing the distance between them. Imagined pulling her into his arms. Imagined kissing her. The image arrived with alarming clarity.

Christ.

He was thirty years old. Master of one of the largest estates in England. A man feared by half of London. And he was contemplating behaving like an idiot. He could throw her over his shoulder and instead of taking her to Donmere House, take her upstairs to his own bedchamber. The image was so absurd that it nearly made him smile. Her outrage would be magnificent.

Or perhaps I could simply kiss her.

That thought proved considerably less amusing. His gaze drifted to her mouth again. A mistake. An immediate mistake. Because suddenly he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Dangerous. Extremely dangerous.

He would never allow himself to lose control in such a fashion. And even if he did, it would destroy her reputation. He was many things. Ruthless at business. Cold. Occasionally unpleasant. But not that.

Lady Seraphine lowered her gaze and murmured something under her breath.

Damien frowned and took a step towards her. “What was that?” he asked.

She looked mortified. “Nothing,” she said quickly.

“I am afraid I'm flattered,” he said quietly, forcing the words out before he could reconsider, “but the answer is no.”

The hope vanished from her face instantly. Damien hated the sight.

Before he could change his mind, he turned sharply towards the doorway. “Mr. James,” he called.

The butler appeared almost immediately. Years of service had made the man unnervingly efficient.

“Your Grace?” Mr. James asked.

“Please have the valet escort Lady Seraphine home,” Damien ordered without looking at her.

Damien had not merely refused her.

No, that would have been easier to bear.

He had not even given a proper reason.

The man had listened to my desperate proposal, stared at me with those unnerving green eyes, and then shooed me away like a stray cat that had wandered into his study. I risked my reputation and scandal by going to him in the middle of the night and still left empty-handed.

The thoughts were heavy on her mind as she entered the breakfast room. Her cousin William sat at the table enthusiastically consuming enough food to sustain a regiment. Eggs, ham, toast, kidneys, sausages, every available plate appeared to be within reach.

Seraphine paused in the doorway and, for one glorious moment, considered turning around and retreating upstairs.

What if he knows? What if the servants told Lord Donmere I left last night?

Then his lordship noticed her. “Lady Seraphine!” he exclaimed cheerfully through a mouthful of food, waving a buttered piece of toast in greeting. “Good morning!”

Her smile felt painful as she stepped further into the room.

Well, I suppose he would not be smiling if he knew what I had done last night, so that is good.

“Good morning, my lord,” she replied, inclining her head before taking the seat opposite him.

The Earl immediately reached for another piece of toast and began buttering it with alarming enthusiasm. The sight filled her with an entirely unreasonable irritation. Only a few days prior she had thought him harmless. Kind, even. Now she knew better. He was exactly what she had feared, not openly cruel, not violent, not vicious, merely a man capable of destroying another person's future while remaining cheerful about it.

In some ways, that is worse.

The Earl swallowed his mouthful and flashed a bright smile on her. “Now, I know it must be very hard on you to watch your father's estate be passed onto me, but that is the way of it, and nothing can be done,” he said, speaking as though he were offering comfort.

Seraphine tightened her grip on her teacup. There it was again. As though she required reminding. As though she woke each morning and forgot that everything she had known now belonged to him.

“Of course, my lord,” she replied sweetly, lifting the cup to her lips to hide her expression.

William nodded approvingly as he reached for a pastry. “Excellent attitude, it does you credit, cousin,” he declared.

Seraphine imagined throwing her teacup directly at his head. Instead, she smiled.

Years of surviving her father had taught her self-control. What she wanted to say was that William did not deserve any of it. He had not endured her father's temper, nor spent years walking upon eggshells. He had not lived beneath the shadow of a man who ruled through fear. She had. And now the reward for surviving all that hardship was eviction.

Life is remarkably unfair.

The Earl selected a pastry and pointed it vaguely in her direction.

“You still need to find a husband within the month,” he reminded her cheerfully. The words landed like a hammer.

Seraphine lifted her teacup and took a careful sip before replying. “If I fail, there is always Westborough Abbey.”

“Precisely!” William exclaimed with alarming enthusiasm. He sounded pleased. “My sister adjusted wonderfully there,” he continued as he bit into the toast. “You shall have company.”

“How comforting,” Seraphine said, managing a polite smile.

“It is,” William assured her with a satisfied nod.

It was not. Not remotely.

Seraphine forced her smile to remain in place. “Thank you for giving me an entire month before removing me from my family home.”

William beamed. “You are most welcome.”

Good heavens. The man genuinely believes he is generous.

“The days are ticking away,” he continued. “You must fill your schedule with social engagements immediately. Dinners. Balls. Musical evenings. House parties. Anything involving unmarried gentlemen.”

He pointed his fork at her as though delivering a profound piece of wisdom. “I cannot wait to see what sort of husband you secure,” he said before helping himself to another bite of breakfast.

Seraphine stared at him across the table, her expression growing increasingly bleak.

William completely misinterpreted it. “Do not worry,” he assured her with an encouraging smile. “You should have excellent prospects.”

Wonderful.

Before she could formulate a response that would not get her banished immediately, the butler entered the room.

“The Duchess of Amberhall.”

Relief flooded Seraphine so suddenly she nearly sighed aloud. Her cousin’s expression changed at once. He stood up from his chair, smoothed his waistcoat, and arranged his features into what he likely believed was a charming smile. Then he leaned towards Seraphine and lowered his voice.

“Do not dare tell her anything,” he warned, the genial mask slipping just long enough for the threat beneath it to become unmistakable.

A moment later the smile returned as though it had never left.

Interesting. Remarkably interesting that he cares what Thalia thinks to protect his reputation.

The doors opened and Thalia swept into the room. She was elegant as always, dressed in pale blue silk and carrying herself with the confidence of a woman who feared absolutely nothing.

Marriage suited her. So did being unimaginably wealthy.

“Thalia,” Seraphine exclaimed, rising from her chair with genuine delight as her friend entered the room.

Thalia crossed the room at once and wrapped her in a warm embrace before leaning back to inspect her face.

“You look dreadful,” she informed her bluntly.

Seraphine laughed despite herself and smoothed a hand over her skirts. “Good morning to you as well,” she replied dryly.

Only then did Thalia turn her attention towards William. “Lord Donmere, I presume?” she said with polite composure, inclining her head slightly.

William sprang toward her so quickly he nearly overturned his chair.

“Your Grace. What an unexpected pleasure,” he said, bowing with exaggerated enthusiasm.

The smile he offered could have illuminated the entire county.

Seraphine nearly rolled her eyes. “May I present my cousin, the new Earl of Donmere,” she said, gesturing towards him.

“A pleasure,” Thalia replied smoothly, though her expression remained unreadable.

William seized upon the opening immediately. “Please convey my regards to the Duke,” he said eagerly, clasping his hands behind his back. “I have heard wonderful things about Amberhall.”

“I am sure you have,” Thalia replied, her tone pleasant but a tad crisp.

Undeterred, William smiled wider. “We must become better acquainted.”

Thalia tilted her head slightly as she regarded him. “Must we?” she asked.

William blinked. Seraphine hid her smile. Thalia could be terrifying when she chose. The Duchess turned away from him and focused her attention on Seraphine.

“I have lady matters to discuss with my friend if you will excuse us,” she said, moving towards the table.

William's smile faltered. “Oh,” he said.

“Privately,” Thalia added, taking a seat beside Seraphine without so much as glancing back at him.

The single word left little room for argument. To his credit, William recovered quickly.

“Of course! Enjoy yourselves,” he said merrily as he adjusted his waistcoat and prepared to leave. He departed moments later, though not before giving Seraphine one final look.

The instant the door closed, Thalia's attention returned to her friend.

“Now,” she said anxiously, taking the seat beside her, “is everything all right?”

I cannot tell her my own cousin is forcing me to marry in one month or be evicted to a convent. Not yet.

Seraphine summoned her most convincing smile. “The new Earl has been nothing but… good-mannered.”

Thalia visibly relaxed, sinking back into her chair as she pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. “Oh, thank heavens,” she said with a sigh.

Yet even as she spoke, her eyes narrowed slightly while she gave Seraphine another careful inspection. She was clearly not entirely convinced.

Before she could pursue the matter further, however, excitement suddenly brightened her expression. She leaned forward in her seat and clasped her hands together. “I have wonderful news,” she announced.

“Do you?” Seraphine asked, lifting an eyebrow at her friend's sudden enthusiasm.

“A house party,” Thalia declared, her smile widening.

Seraphine blinked at her. “A house party?” she repeated.

“At Amberhall,” Thalia said proudly, sitting a little straighter.

The excitement in her voice was unmistakable.

“I have decided that Society is exhausting,” she continued with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“That does sound like you,” Seraphine replied, unable to suppress a smile.

“So Caspian and I are gathering a few friends instead. You must come,” Thalia said gleefully.

Seraphine immediately became suspicious. She folded her arms and regarded her friend carefully. “A few friends?” she asked.

“Yes,” Thalia replied with an innocent expression that fooled absolutely no one.

“How many is a few?” Seraphine pressed.

Thalia hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. “Forty or fifty,” she admitted.

Seraphine laughed outright and shook her head. “That is not a few people,” she said.

Forty or fifty guests was actually a respectable number. Certainly enough to begin searching for a husband. More importantly, it would remove her from William's company. That benefit alone was almost enough to secure her acceptance.

Looking up at her friend, she smiled genuinely. “I would love to come,” she said warmly.

Thalia immediately clapped her hands together in delight. “Excellent,” she declared with a grin. “I knew you would.”

As Thalia launched into enthusiastic details, Seraphine found herself smiling more easily than she had all morning.

Perhaps the situation is not entirely hopeless after all.

Chapter Three

The journey to Amberhall Manor in the countryside proved far more pleasant than Seraphine had expected.

Lady Branson, a longtime friend of the family, and her daughters had happily welcomed her into their carriage, and by the time the estate came into view, all four ladies were thoroughly engaged in discussing the upcoming house party.

“I heard there will be a boating competition,” Hannah Branson said excitedly as she peered through the carriage window.

Katherine laughed. “And I heard Lord Ashbury intends to embarrass himself at archery again.”

“He does that every year,” Lady Branson agreed. “One wonders why he continues attempting it.”

“Hope springs eternal,” Seraphine said with a smile.

The women laughed. The atmosphere inside the carriage was warm and genuinely jolly. It was such a welcome change from Donmere House that Seraphine felt relaxed for the first time in days.

Outside, Amberhall Manor emerged from the rolling countryside.

The sprawling estate sat atop a gentle rise, constructed from pale stone that gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Gardens stretched in every direction. Guests and servants moved about the front drive in organized chaos as carriage after carriage arrived.

Hannah pressed her face closer to the carriage window as Amberhall Manor came fully into view and clasped her hands together in delight.

“Oh, look at all the people!” she exclaimed, watching the steady stream of arriving guests and servants moving across the front drive.

Seraphine leaned slightly to look past her and took in the bustling scene. Carriages lined the sweeping approach, footmen hurried between arrivals, and elegant ladies in travelling gowns were already ascending the grand steps. “A mere forty or fifty guests,” she said solemnly, though the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement.

Lady Branson laughed outright and shook her head at her. “You have spent too much time with the Duchess,” she said, adjusting her gloves. “Only the Duchess of Amberhall could describe fifty guests as an intimate gathering.”

The carriage rolled smoothly to a stop before the grand entrance, and immediately several footmen stepped forward with practiced efficiency. Excitement rippled through the carriage as the ladies gathered reticules, gloves, and shawls.

Katherine smoothed her skirts and smiled brightly. “This shall be wonderful,” she declared, her eyes shining with anticipation.

“It had better be,” Lady Branson replied as she inspected her reflection in the glass. “I brought six new gowns, and I refuse to have packed them for nothing.”

The others laughed as the carriage door swung open.

Still smiling, Seraphine descended first. The journey had put her in unusually good spirits, and for the first time in weeks she felt almost carefree. Her attention remained fixed behind her as she stepped down from the carriage, which was precisely why she failed to notice someone standing directly in her path.

She collided with a hard, immovable surface. The impact startled a gasp from her lips. For one bewildered instant she thought she had walked into a stone pillar.

Then a strong hand closed firmly around her arm while another settled against her waist, steadying her before she could stumble backwards. The world tilted alarmingly for a moment before righting itself.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Mortified, she lifted her head. And found herself staring directly into a pair of cold green eyes. Her stomach dropped.

Oh no. Damien. The Duke of Wexford. Of course it would be him.

For a heartbeat she simply stared. He looked exactly as she remembered, tall, imposing, and entirely too handsome for a man who spent so much time looking disapproving. His dark coat fit his broad shoulders perfectly, and his expression revealed absolutely nothing.

“Careful,” he said, his deep voice calm as he steadied her fully before she could embarrass herself further.

The simple word sent an unwelcome flutter through her stomach.

Nerves, she told herself immediately.

Pure nerves and nothing more.

Anyone would feel unsettled after nearly falling flat on their face in front of dozens of guests.

Behind her, she became aware that Lady Branson and her daughters had fallen completely silent. Their chipper chatter vanished as though someone had extinguished it with a candle snuffer. Seraphine did not need to turn around to know they were all staring.

Wonderful.

She had arrived at Amberhall Manor and managed to make a spectacle of herself within seconds.

The Duke released her only once it was certain she had regained her balance. His hands disappeared as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind an irritating awareness of where they had been. Seraphine straightened her shoulders at once, determined to recover what remained of her dignity.

“Your Grace.”

The Duke inclined his head. A single sharp glance swept across the three women as they descended the carriage. Seraphine watched the transformation with reluctant admiration. It was remarkable how much authority one man could communicate without uttering a single word.

Lady Branson straightened immediately.

“Your Grace.” The ladies curtsied. The Duke bowed sharply.

“Well, we should not keep the Duchess waiting,” Lady Branson said briskly as she adjusted her gloves and offered Seraphine an apologetic smile.

“Quite right,” Katherine agreed, already taking a step towards the entrance.

“And I simply must see my room,” Hannah added, though she had shown no such urgency a moment earlier.

Within moments they had abandoned Seraphine entirely, disappearing through the grand doors with suspicious haste.

Traitors.

Seraphine watched them go before turning back towards the Duke. The broad stone steps suddenly felt much larger and far more exposed than they had a moment ago. Guests bustled around the drive below, servants hurried between carriages, yet somehow it felt as though they were standing alone.

Has he told anyone that I proposed to him in the night? Will he speak of it to me, or forget it happened?

Her companion regarded her steadily, his expression unreadable.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, slipping his hands behind his back as though he were conducting a formal interrogation rather than greeting a guest.

The question was so blunt that her indignation immediately returned.

“I could ask the same of you,” she replied, lifting her chin as she met his gaze.

One dark eyebrow rose. “Thalia is my sister,” he reminded her, his tone suggesting this should have been painfully obvious.

“Ah yes,” Seraphine said with exaggerated thoughtfulness as she clasped her hands before her. “I had nearly forgotten.”

The Duke folded his arms across his chest. “Something you did not forget a few nights ago,” he added dryly.

Do not dare speak of my foolish proposal.

Seraphine bit back a smile. “She happens to be my best friend,” she informed him, gesturing towards the house behind them.

“And therefore, you were invited,” he concluded.

“I was. She came to Donmere House to invite me herself,” she confirmed with satisfaction.

The Duke nodded thoughtfully, though there was a suspicious glint in his eyes. “I was invited via a letter,” he said flatly.

For a moment Seraphine simply stared at him. Then a grin escaped before she could stop it.

“How formal,” she observed, her smile growing wider.

“Apparently my sister felt it necessary,” he said, sounding faintly aggrieved by the fact.

Seraphine's smile widened triumphantly. For some reason she found the image of the formidable Duke of Wexford receiving a formal invitation to his own sister's house deeply amusing.

The Duke noticed her amusement immediately and narrowed his eyes.

“You seem pleased by this,” he observed, watching her far too closely.

“I am,” Seraphine admitted, unable to suppress her grin.

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as though genuinely curious.

“Because for once I appear to have outranked a duke.” To her astonishment, the corner of his mouth twitched.

Not quite a smile. But close. The sight unsettled her far more than his scowling ever had because it made her heart leap. She quickly looked away. There was something profoundly unfair about a man becoming more attractive when he almost smiled.

Damien tilted his head slightly as he regarded her, his expression settling into dry resignation.

“I would not become too comfortable with the achievement,” he said.

Seraphine clasped her hands behind her back and lifted her chin. “I intend to treasure it forever,” she informed him with a bright smile that was deliberately provoking.

A faint look of long-suffering crossed his face. “I was afraid of that,” he replied, rubbing a hand across his jaw.

The exchange should not have felt so natural. Yet somehow it did. Most gentlemen inspired her polite manners and carefully measured responses. The Duke inspired quite the opposite. Around him, she became argumentative. Defiant. Entirely too willing to challenge him simply because he expected her not to. It was a side of herself she rarely revealed.

Certainly not while in polite Society. Perhaps it is because he irritates me so thoroughly.

The Duke’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment longer than necessary. The trace of amusement disappeared from his features, and something in the atmosphere shifted. The easy humor between them faded, replaced by a tension she could not quite name.

He took a slow step closer. “Since we're discussing proper invitations,” he said, his voice lowering slightly as he looked down at her, “perhaps we should discuss proper behavior.”

Seraphine immediately frowned at him. “My behavior is perfectly proper,” she declared, planting her hands firmly on her hips.

The Duke’s eyes flickered briefly to the gesture before returning to her face. “Hm,” he murmured, the sound carrying enough skepticism to be deeply insulting.

Her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, taking a step towards him as though challenging him to explain himself.

“It means,” the Duke replied calmly, “that you improperly arrived at my house in the middle of the night.”

Her cheeks heated at once. That was hardly fair. She had been desperate that night, cornered by circumstances and running out of options. Yet the Duke spoke of it as though she had climbed through his window armed with a pistol.

“You make it sound scandalous,” she said, lifting her chin as she fixed him with an indignant look.

His expression remained infuriatingly calm as he looked down at her. “It was scandalous,” he replied without hesitation.

“It was practical,” Seraphine shot back, folding her arms across her chest.

“It was reckless,” he countered, not missing a beat.

“It was necessary,” she insisted, taking a small step forward.

His words should not have affected her. Yet they did. Something in the way he said them made her heart stumble unexpectedly.

Annoying. Very annoying.

She looked away for a moment, gathering herself, only to find that the Duke was still watching her. His gaze was steady and intent.

“You had better not behave inappropriately in my sister's home,” he said at last, his tone deceptively mild.

Seraphine stared at him in disbelief. “Inappropriately?” she repeated, her eyebrows shooting upward.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she attempted to look imposing. Unfortunately, the Duke still towered over her by several inches.

“I shall have you know, Your Grace,” she said with great dignity, “that I will be the picture of the good girl.”

A strange gleam appeared in his eyes. Then came that infuriating smirk. Not a full smile. Somehow worse. The sort of expression that suggested he knew something she did not. Seraphine immediately distrusted it.

“Will you indeed?” he asked, one dark eyebrow lifting.

“Yes,” she replied firmly, refusing to be intimidated.

His gaze swept over her face, lingering just long enough to make her uncomfortably aware of it. He looked entirely entertained by the conversation. As though he was enjoying himself. As though provoking her had become a favorite pastime.

Before she could demand an explanation for that ridiculous smirk, the front doors burst open behind them.

“Seraphine!” Thalia practically flew down the steps, skirts gathered in her hands as she hurried towards them. Her face lit up the moment she spotted her friend.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, reaching Seraphine and immediately seizing both her hands.

Seraphine laughed despite herself. “Good afternoon to you as well.”

Only then did Thalia glance between them. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as they landed on her brother.

“What have you done now, Damien?” she demanded.

The Duke looked deeply offended by the accusation. “I have done nothing,” he replied, spreading his hands slightly as though he were the injured party.

Seraphine, meanwhile, found herself smiling. Genuine excitement stirred within her. The house party had finally begun.

And judging by the look the Duke sent her before Thalia dragged her inside…

It promises to be anything but dull.

Want to know how the story ends? Tap on the link below to read the rest of the story.

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Also by Maybel Bardot

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An Unwanted Bride for the Duke

The Rake and the Mad Duchess

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His Untouchable Duchess

The Beast and the Accidental Duchess

A Duke to Possess her

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About the Author

Maybel Bardot has spent her life lost in stories. From girlhood to her years in teaching and finally, as an author, books have been her solace. Immersing herself in different worlds she has managed to live a thousand lives, each one a journey of imagination.

A degree in English Literature was a no-brainer. And a later career in teaching gave her the opportunity to pass on the knowledge she was so grateful to receive. A romance lover herself meeting her husband felt like something out of a fairytale and their three children completed their happy ending.

Having grown up reading Austen and Bronte, she fell in love with the Regency era from a young age, fascinated by the society and romance. Now retired, she is ready to try her hand at stories of passionate love between Lords and Ladies as they traverse a world full of balls, gloved touches in dark corners, and hushed whispers of desire.

In case you love free books, you will find one that I never published on Amazon. I give it only as a gift to my followers. You can find it on my real Facebook page.