Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“You will be coming to our Hallow’s Eve, party, will you not?” Amelia asked as Ophelia walked her friends to the front door. “No more trying to hide from us?”
“I would not miss it,” Ophelia promised.
“And no more secrets?” Theo asked, moving in to hug Ophelia goodbye. “We love you. There’s nothing you could do to change that.”
Ophelia hugged her back tightly, grateful that at least most of her secrets were now out in the open with her friends.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
After another round of hugs and kisses, Ophelia watched from the open door as her friends all walked down the path toward their respective carriages.
Even though her heart still felt heavy and confused, she could not help the small but genuine smile on her face.
Her friends loved her. Fully. And perhaps that was more important than anything else.
“Are you coming in, Miss Wexley?” Mr. Potter asked, appearing by her side. “It is getting rather chilly in the evenings as of late.”
Ophelia glanced up at the sky as a cool breeze flittered over her. The moon was not quite full, but it was bright and clear; casting plenty of light to take a relaxing stroll through the gardens behind her house.
“In fact I believe I shall take a walk around the house, Mr. Potter,” she replied, “Would you mind fetching a shawl?”
Mr. Potter quickly agreed, and returned a short while later with her dark blue wool shawl. Ophelia wrapped it tightly around her shoulders.
“Thank you, Mr. Potter. Could you please make sure the patio door is unlocked? I shall use it when I am finished.”
“Of course, Miss Wexley,” Mr. Potter agreed, then closed the front door as she stepped outside.
In the quiet moonlight, Ophelia tilted her face toward the sky, closed her eyes, and inhaled the crisp air deeply. Suddenly she had a thought, and instead of the ache she was growing accustomed to, her heart filled with hope.
Perhaps one day she would look back on this time and smile.
When her hair was gray and she was sitting across from a husband she did not quite know at a dinner table that was far too quiet, she would think of her time as an artist for the Devil’s Masquerade- of her time as a secret lover to the man behind it all, and feel a little thrill.
She would know that at one time she had revolted against the society she despised in the most wonderful of ways, and she would keep her head lifted high.
And that heart ache she held now? It would be a reminder that she, even for the smallest of moments, had experienced pure passion with an enemy.
Smirking at the thought, she lowered her head, opened her eyes, and began walking toward the gardens that graced the back of her house.
As she approached the gates, her smirk turned into a smile.
They had been forced to let their gardeners go to save on funds, and the growing cold was beginning to wilt and harden the colorful petals and leaves into dull husks.
Even so, the wildness of it all stirred a sense of peace within her.
There was a beauty, she realized, in letting go.
She was just about to open the gate when she heard a crunching of stones behind her.
“Did you forget something?” She asked, thinking it was one of her friends.
“It seems that I did,” a familiar deep voice replied.
Ophelia whirled around, clutching her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she saw Abraham striding her way. A shiver went up her spine as she took in his frown, and unwittingly backed herself up against the garden gate.
“Lord Weavington,” she greeted brusquely. “It is far too late for a call. Especially an impromptu one.”
“Oh, normally I would tend to agree,” he replied with equal gruffness as he drew closer, “But you and I have something to discuss.”
“Stop where you are,” Ophelia demanded, holding a hand up.
Abraham ignored her, walking right up to her hand until it was forced to press to his chest.
“What are you doing?!” She exclaimed.
“Claiming my right for an explanation,” Abraham growled out. The many manners he portrayed in the past were now completely gone, and as he drew something out of his pocket, Ophelia tensed.
“Your father sent this back to me,” Abraham stated, holding up the golden necklace he had gifted her, “Along with a detailed letter demanding that I cease our courtship.”
Ophelia’s feet shifted backward, trying to put more space between them, but the gate stopped her.
Her heart began to pound as she suddenly realized she was trapped between the gate and Abraham’s body.
It was not at all like being close Tristan, whose body created shivers for an entirely different reason. She felt caged…frightened.
Ophelia drew in a steadying breath, refusing to show her fear.
“I do apologize if you are disappointed, Lord Weavington,” she said, forcing a polite tone, “However, I must agree with my father. I did enjoy getting to know you but I do not believe we are proper fit. Now please, do be a gentleman and step back.”
Abraham raised a single brow as he remained right where he was.
“And why would I do that?” He asked, “Seeing as you are by no means a lady, SR.”
Another chill moved down Ophelia’s spine and she stared at him in shock.
“Societum Rebel? Your full alias, I believe,” Abraham went on. “The one you use to be hired? The one you used when you became a member of the Devil’s Masquerade.”
Ophelia began to tremble uncontrollably as Abraham’s frown drew into a devilish smirk.
“Oh, yes, Miss. Wexley. I know all about you,” he said, his quiet tone ebbing with danger.
“What do you want?” She rasped, her mouth suddenly dry.
Abraham’s gaze shifted from her eyes down to her throat, and he reached out, tugging her shawl away to reveal the collar of her dress. Her body shivered with disgust at his touch, but she found herself unable to move.
“I believe you already know what I want,” he stated, tracing a finger over the silver choker sitting right above the collar of her dress.
She hated Tristan for what he’d done and said.
For what he’d made her feel. Yet despite it all, she had not been able to bring herself to remove the chocker he’d gifted her.
Abraham’s fingers slipped around the tight necklace, and she gasped as he suddenly yanked. The thin chain broke away from her throat with a soft snap and pooled lifelessly into Abraham’s hand.
“Give that back!” She exclaimed, reaching for the choker.
Abraham’s hand was instantly around her wrist in a painful grip; stopping her attempt midair. He shoved it away and stepped closer, leaving no space between them as he gave her an evil glare.
“You will go to your father first thing tomorrow morning,” Abraham explained, pulling the gold necklace he’d tried to give her. He brought it up to neck and fixed the heavy, golden necklace painfully tight around her throat, “You will tell him you have had a change of heart about me.”
Once the necklace was fastened, Abraham smooth his hands down over it, making her stomach clench painfully when his palms lingered just above her breasts.
“And when I call on you next,” he went on, slowly raising his eyes back to hers, “You will accept my proposal.”
Ophelia’s mind and body lurched at the idea. She wanted to fight, wanted to shout and claw and make a scene like she knew she could. But there was something in Abraham’s eyes that made her cower.
“Why?” She managed to whisper. “Why me?”
Abraham shrugged as his smile returned.
“You truly are not as smart as you like to think you are, are you?” He asked, his tone laced with condescension.
He then sighed and shook as his head as he finally took a step away from her and removed his hands.
“That will be good for us in the long run,” he said matter-of-factly, “I had thought it would be difficult to train you into a good wife.”
Ophelia finally broke free of her fear and snatched her broken choker from his hand.
“I will be no such thing to you,” she hissed, then reached up to tear his necklace from her neck.
She barely had her fingers wrapped around the gaudy thing before Abraham’s hand shot up and closed painfully tight around hers.
“You will,” he stated, the amusement gone from his eyes. He stepped closer, so close she could feel his hot breath fan across her face and make her shiver with disgust.
“If you want your secrets kept. If you want your father safe. You will.”
Fury and fear burned through Ophelia’s veins, battling one another as she stared into Abraham’s soulless dark eyes.
“You dare threaten my father?” She demanded.
“Oh, I will threaten every part of your life, Miss Wexley,” Abraham warned, tugging just enough at the necklace to make her sway forward.
“And I make due on my threats. If you do not believe me just say no. You will discover your secrets- and your friend Lord Darlington’s secrets- will splayed among the sheets of several different newspapers by tomorrow morn.”
Ophelia’s fury died as quickly as it rose; fear sweeping through her completely.
“Say no,” Abraham goaded, tugging at the necklace again. “I dare you.”
He raised a brow, as if baiting her to disobey him.
Realizing she truly had no choice, Ophelia pressed her eyes shut and turned her head from him as much as she could.
“I will tell my father of my change of heart in the morning,” she forced herself to say.
Her body instantly rebelled as she said the words, and she worried she was going to be sick right then and there. What would such a man do if she vomited on him? Hit her? Push her? There would certainly be some sort of punishment.
Abraham suddenly released her though, enabling her to avoid finding out what his reaction would be, and took a step back from her.
“See?” He said, his tone suddenly light and playful, “I told you you were trainable.”
Ophelia didn’t answer, only snapped her eyes open and glared at him.
“You will have to fix that look in your eyes before we start courting in public,” Abraham advised, taking another step back, “Cannot have our peers believing that this is anything less but true love.”
Again, Ophelia kept her mouth shut, silently counting the seconds as he put more space between them.
“I shall see you soon, beloved,” Abraham said with an overly dramatic bow. “Now be a good girl and go inside. It is quite chilly out here. We would not want you catching your death before our wedding.”
Ophelia’s eyes widened as she picked up on the underlying threat. Abraham’s grin back at her wide was wide and full of satisfaction. Then without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away.
For several moments, Ophelia remained frozen to the gate as she faced an onslaught of emotions. The fear of Abraham’s blackmail. The loss of her freedom. The pain of being called a good girl by someone that was not Tristan. The heartache of her choker being broken.
The gaudy gold around her throat felt heavy, suffocating, and she reached up, and tried to rip it off.
Yet as she pulled and tugged at it, she found not only unbreakable, but actually locked around her throat.
Like a wild animal being forced into becoming a house pet, Ophelia realized that everything about her life was about to change.