Chapter 1
Chapter One
“ N o. I cannot let him do this to me,” Gwendoline muttered as she surveyed her reflection in the full-length mirror.
Dressed in a wedding gown, the nineteen-year-old lady had been pacing her chambers for the past hour. She was visibly uncomfortable, not only because the lace itched, but also because the dress was meant to humiliate her.
The bodice was too tight, pushing her ample breasts up as if to say, look at me—look at these .
It was difficult enough to be a young woman with a full figure. Eyes were often drawn to her curves, and having her corset laced up without a maid was almost impossible.
Her cousin, Timothy Landon, the new Earl of Montrose, seemed to have chosen all possible ways to humiliate her. Her father only died months ago, but her cousin had begun ruling with an iron fist long before that. Subtle at first. Creeping. Slithering.
She had been pacing for some time, hoping her circumstances would change, but it was not meant to be.
They were waiting downstairs. For her.
“Get downstairs, Gwendoline. At this very moment,” a brash voice demanded, proving her right.
It could be Timothy—almost twice her age and several times more powerful, at this point. He had complete control over her future, which was looking bleak.
There was no more time to think.
The door to her room flew open, causing her anxiety to rise into full panic.
The brass knob struck the wall with the violence of the entrance.
“What on earth is taking you so long, you useless chit?” Timothy hissed.
No matter what Timothy said, this place was broken. Gone was the impeccable household that he used to merely covet, the one Gwendoline was part of during her childhood.
Driven by her frayed nerves, Gwendoline turned in the direction of the sound, her wedding gown swishing around her feet.
Although she was dressed for a wedding, the day was far from her happiest day. Especially when her heart was in tatters.
Timothy filled the doorway with his tall frame. The harsh light from the corridor made him look almost infernal. His eyes bored into her, looking her up and down. He didn’t bother to hide the cold calculation and the irritation that bordered heavily on disdain.
Gwendoline never wanted to look weak, but she was young and terrified at the prospect of being paraded like a common whore to whoever might consider marrying her.
Brides were supposed to be wooed and promised love. At the very least, they should be offered comfort through an arranged marriage that promised wealth, if not affection.
She had no assurance of either. All she would ever have was a cold transaction orchestrated by her greedy cousin. She probably shouldn’t have relied on those romance novels often hidden under her pillows.
“Please give me more time,” she pleaded. “I can’t go down yet. I’m not ready.”
“Enough of that. Our guests have waited long enough. I have waited long enough,” he snapped.
With long, decisive strides, he entered the room. His shoes clicked ominously against the wooden floor.
“We have been waiting for hours. You hear me? Hours, Cousin!”
Gwendoline’s heart sank further as she realized just how lost she was. She knew Timothy was stretching the truth a little, but the impatience was no jest. Those men were probably livid at this point. Her cousin’s words crushed any other hope that she was holding on to.
Hope for what?
That there would be some kind of catastrophic event that could stop the inevitable?
She turned toward the window, where the golden rays of the sun streamed in. Unlike her, they were full of beauty and magic. Of hope. There was a time when she was like those rays. These days, her light had been dimmed—just as imprisoned as she was.
“You know this isn’t right,” she said. She tried to keep the tremor of desperation from her voice, even as her eyes remained fixed on a point beyond the window.
Mother? Father? Anyone?
Her thoughts were pleading, but she would rather die than let Timothy see through her. Even though her situation was hopeless, she didn’t want him to see her desperate and afraid.
Under the sunlight of hope, the manicured gardens seemed to stretch endlessly. The swaying trees and blooming flowers danced softly in the lively breeze. Unencumbered. Unburdened.
Free .
“What’s not right?” Timothy asked harshly.
“Parading me in front of men like a prized heifer. It’s undignified.”
Timothy laughed. It was low and humorless, with a more dangerous undercurrent.
“Spare me your dramatics, Lady Gwendoline,” he said. “Remember that you are under my charity. Without me, you will be out on the streets, penniless. You would have to do worse than what I’m asking of you. Without me, you’ll be forgotten.”
“I’d rather be forgotten, then,” she retorted, her voice rising in defiance.
Boiling anger fueling her, she twirled around. With that swift motion, her gown caught the sunlight. For a moment, she was part of its brilliance, its hope, and the cheap fabric became something more.
“I’d rather be a pauper than be sold like a broodmare to one of your business partners!”
Timothy reared back in surprise for a brief moment. Unfortunately, he recovered, and the look of shock on his face turned into a sneer.
“When have you gotten so feisty? So melodramatic?” he asked, taking steps toward her.
As he came closer, Gwendoline found it harder to breathe. It was as if he took every ounce of air from the room—just like he took the house and everything else that was left of her family.
“What do you expect? You are a woman, Lady Gwendoline. Unless you have forgotten that. A woman with no dowry or consequential title has no prospects. You cannot do anything on your own. So, the least you can do is be grateful that I am going to great lengths to find you more opportunities.”
“Opportunities?” she echoed, her fists clenching at her sides. “No, you have taken every opportunity for yourself. I get nothing from these arrangements, and you are well aware of it.”
She could see his patience thinning as he narrowed his eyes at her. “Watch your tongue, Cousin. You know that nobody else will help you now. Nobody else could be bothered.”
“No, you’ve done nothing but exploit me,” she responded, unaware when her courage would start faltering.
But there were so many things she had to say. For the moment, all that she felt was indignation, and it was fueling her onward.
“And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, you make me parade myself before your vulture friends!” Her voice shook with fury.
Timothy stepped closer, his shoes feeling heavy on the wooden floor. The tips sunk into the plush rug where Gwendoline stood. His eyes looked her up and down once more as if trying to assess a product he wanted to sell.
He took on a more menacing stance, standing straighter and looking down his nose at her. He was like one of those monsters from her childhood nightmares, except that she was no longer a child, was she? She was a woman, she reminded herself. A grown woman.
“Do you truly believe that you are far above your suitors, Gwendoline?” he asked in a softer but still menacing voice that scraped across her skin and froze her bones.
He took another step, bringing them closer than she would ever want in her lifetime.
Mere inches separated them now. Even so, the distance felt like nothing—Gwendoline felt like he was invading her soul.
“Perhaps what you really want is for me to take you as my wife? Tell me, Cousin, should we send all of them home so I can have you all to myself?” he asked, a smirk on his face.
Timothy Landon was not an ugly man, but there was something disgusting about him. Something vile. Gwendoline would never choose him as a husband, cousin or not. Women flocked to him even though he treated them badly, for reasons she could never understand.
The sudden drop in his voice did not prepare her for his words, which felt like a slap to her dignity. Malice dripped from each syllable, every breath, and every intonation.
Before she could respond or flee, his knuckles brushed against the lace of her bodice. There was no doubt what he was trying to do. He traced the hem, his fingers grazing the generous swell of her breasts.
“What are you doing?” Gwendoline gasped, slapping his hand away.
The gesture might have been fleeting, but the vile act sent a shockwave of revulsion through her body. She shook visibly.
Timothy only chuckled, shaking his head as if he could not fathom why she was making a fuss. Somehow, Gwendoline could tell that he was planning to attempt something again.
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, jabbing an index finger at him as she recoiled from his touch. She backed away, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. “You disgust me.”
The rage that she felt earlier was nothing compared to what she felt now. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and the veins in her temples throbbed. She had never felt so much hatred in her life.
Timothy wasn’t deterred by her outburst. He laughed, the sound coming right from his belly.
“Disgusting? Don’t flatter yourself, Cousin,” he taunted, his voice dripping with condescension. It was so potent that she couldn’t help but flinch. “I was merely testing a theory here. You are nothing but the sum of your essentials. Not a great beauty. Not one with the svelte form that dresses flatter. But what you have—your breasts, your womb… They are what matters to the men downstairs. You are going down to show yourself to them—show them that you are the epitome of a satisfying reward.”
His rambling made her shake with both fury and revulsion. She had now realized just how far her cousin would go.
While she felt a twinge of fear deep inside, her anger prevailed.
“You will not touch me again.”
Again, he let out a disbelieving huff, lasciviousness still etched on his face.
“Na?ve, little Gwendoline, you are fortunate that I wanted to touch you in any way. Look at yourself in the mirror. Do you really believe anyone would want that large and ungainly body when there are far more slender and ladylike women in the ton? Your only worth is your fertility. Nothing more.”
Gwendoline wondered if she would ever forget his face after everything—after the way he had treated her like cattle. Worse still, the words he had just uttered carved themselves in her chest, each slice collapsing in on itself and leaving her hollow.
“You will go downstairs,” he growled, yanking on her arm and dragging her toward the open door. “You will smile.”
Her blood ran cold as she realized the total helplessness of her situation. Timothy would not stop until he got what he wanted.
“Let me go!” she cried, desperation now tinging her voice.
She struggled—she would not go down without a fight, at least. He was stronger, though. The more she tried to wrench free, the more his grip tightened, the pressure around her arm becoming painful.
Her wedding gown rustled noisily as he forced her out of the room.
The grand staircase—even its gleaming bannisters and intricately patterned carpeting—could not save what seemed like a lost cause. The grim reality of her situation crashed down on her, even though she had been reminded of it over and over again.
Heart pounding and feet fighting every step, Gwendoline was breathing hard when they reached the parlor.
The room grew eerily quiet when she and Timothy made their strange, little entrance. He, with half-wild eyes, gripped her arm, and she looked like she was close to being ravished by a pack of lions.
The silence turned into a hum of low murmurs. There were slight nods and curious stares. Four men stood apart from each other in the space meant for visitors— wanted guests.
Then again, these were guests of Timothy.
A painful silence fell over them again. The men’s eyes turned toward her.
“Gentlemen,” Timothy began smoothly as if he hadn’t just forced his cousin down the stairs to face them. “May I present my cousin, Lady Gwendoline. I had previously spoken about the virtues of having her as a wife,” he announced, his grip on her arm finally loosening.
Sadly, the pressure on her arm remained—she was certain it would leave a bruise.
The suitors inclined their heads politely, but there was something unsettling about them. It could be their gazes. The way they lingered on her made her skin crawl. Some were looking at her with mild interest, while others were not too shy about the hunger in their eyes—beasts ready to feast on innocent prey.
Gwendoline knew what she must have looked like in the ill-fitting gown made for someone a few sizes smaller. Her breasts were spilling out, and the fabric clung to her hips tightly. She looked more like a whore in a tavern than a gently bred lady.
She knew that life with any of the other men in the parlor would be the same as her life with Timothy or perhaps even worse, as marriage would tie her forever to one of them.
Each of the men made her feel naked, restless, and extremely uncomfortable.
“As you can see, gentlemen,” Timothy continued, his tongue as sweet as the charlatan that he was, “her body is made for giving birth to as many heirs as you need.”
“How can you be sure that she can give me a male heir?” one of the men asked, leering at Gwendoline. She shivered when he looked at her unblinkingly.
“Well, when she becomes your wife, she’ll be happy to offer herself as many times as needed to provide you with a son. I mean, she would be yours, at that point. Don’t you agree, gentlemen?” Timothy asked, lifting his shoulders as if there was no doubt.
To Gwendoline’s horror, the men in the parlor mumbled in agreement. One or two even made a sound of utter satisfaction.
“I’m, uh,” she began, and all eyes were suddenly on her.
Her palms were cold and clammy, but she would not give them the satisfaction of rubbing them on the cheap lace.
“You are willing to assume this role. I understand, Cousin,” Timothy said mock-solemnly.
The other men laughed derisively.
“We should begin discussing?—”
Timothy did not get to continue what he was about to say.
Heavy footsteps thundered toward the parlor door. Then, the wooden barrier came crashing down.
Gwendoline stifled a shriek. One of her suitors even let out a loud gasp as the force of the impact rattled everyone’s souls.
All heads turned toward the tall, dark-haired man looming in the doorway.
Earlier, Gwendoline thought that her cousin dominated the doorway with his size and presence. But that was before she’d seen this man.
She didn’t know who he was, but he seemed important. Everything from his starched cravat to his polished, knee-high boots screamed finery and elegance—something that neither she nor Timothy could boast about.
The intruder was trembling with unbridled fury, his gray eyes sweeping over the room with what could only be described as pure hatred. The intensity made Gwendoline’s suitors shift on their feet.
His eyes landed on Gwendoline, and his jaw tightened. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his eyebrows knitted as he took in the scene before him.
What did he think of her and all this?
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his deep voice reverberating through the room.
Despite the fear in his eyes, Timothy straightened his back and sneered at the man.
“Your Grace,” he said, executing a stiff bow. “This is, um, an unexpected pleasure. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
A duke?
What was a duke doing in their parlor?
Timothy seemed surprised, if not mortified, to see this duke in his parlor. So that meant the duke wasn’t one of his business partners—one of her potential buyers.
The duke strode toward the center of the room, looking at each suitor one by one, his eyes holding a challenge. Then, he shifted his focus back to Timothy.
“I could ask you the same, Montrose. Why were you parading your cousin before these men as if she were mere cattle?”
“This is a family matter, Your Grace,” Timothy replied.
Gwendoline was surprised that her cousin had let his mask slip away, for his voice trembled slightly.
Timothy was afraid. Very afraid.
“It’s none of your concern,” he added, lifting his chin in an attempt to show defiance.
“It seems more like an auction to me,” the duke huffed, his focus on Timothy unwavering.
Who is this man, and why is everyone in the room so afraid of him?
“Why are you here, Your Grace?” Timothy asked.
The duke smirked and took a step forward.
“Ah, I’m glad you asked that question again. Now, I can tell you and everyone in this room that I have solid proof that you rigged the games at the Devil’s Draw,” he declared. “And more!”