Chapter 23
“Just breathe,” Sophia whispered the words to herself, pressing her palms flat against the cool wallpaper.
The music room lay dark and quiet around her, lit only by moonlight streaming through tall windows. A pianoforte sat in the corner, its keys gleaming silver in the darkness. Sheet music lay scattered across a stand. Heavy velvet curtains framed the windows, muffling the world outside.
The faint strains of the ball drifted through the walls, distant and muted. A world of light and laughter and safety. A world that felt impossibly far away.
She could still feel Drakeston’s hands on her. Still smell his cologne, cloying and sharp, clinging to her skin like a stain. Still hear his whispered poison, each word designed to wound, to diminish, to remind her of her powerlessness.
Her skin crawled. She wanted to scrub herself raw, to peel away every place he had touched. But she could not fall apart. Not here. Not now. She had survived worse. She would survive this.
In. Out. In. Out.
The silk of her gown whispered against her legs as she shifted, trying to steady herself. Her heart still raced, but the panic began to recede. She would compose herself. She would return to the ball. She would smile and pretend that nothing had happened.
The door opened behind her.
Sophia’s heart leapt. She turned, hope flaring despite everything.
Edward. He had come to find her. He had come to make sure she was safe and had come to look at her with those blue eyes and make her feel, for just a moment, that she was not alone.
“Sophia, dearest.”
Lord Drakeston stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
The hope died. Ice flooded her veins.
“Did you think you could escape me so easily?” Drakeston drawled as he moved further into the room, his footsteps measured, unhurried, a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run.
Sophia straightened. She would not cower. She would not give him the satisfaction.
“Let me pass,” she said as she headed straight for the door, but he positioned himself before her, blocking her only exit.
“I’m afraid I cannot do that. Not until I get what I want.” His eyes lowered, and he licked his lips.
Sophia shuddered.
“I will pay you when we return to London.” Sophia’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “As we agreed. You will have your money.”
Drakeston laughed. The sound echoed off the walls, low and cruel.
“Money.” He stepped closer. “You think this is about money?”
Sophia’s stomach dropped. She had seen the way he looked at her, felt the possessive weight of his gaze when he thought she was not watching. But she had told herself it was merely another form of control, another way to make her feel small.
“We should not be alone like this.” She took a step back, her voice steadier than she felt. “It isn’t proper. If someone were to find us here—”
“I’m not done, my dear Sophia,” he said as he took another step, and the moonlight caught the sinister gleam of his pale eyes, the twist of his smile.
“The money… Certainly, I like being paid what I’m owed.
But when it came to you and your mother…
Well, it is more of a means to an end. A way to keep you close.
To remind you of your place. To ensure that you have no choice but to comply. ”
“My place?” Sophia’s voice shook despite her efforts to control it.
He closed the distance between them until she could feel the heat of his body, could see the sweat beading at his temples despite the chill in the room.
His eyes raked over her body with an ownership that made her stomach turn, as though she were already his to claim.
She wanted to flee, to scream, but her feet seemed rooted to the floor.
“Beneath me, where you belong. Where you have always belonged, from the moment I first saw you at that wretched ball three years ago. So proud and so untouchable. I knew then that I would have you. It was only a matter of time.”
Ice flooded her veins. The room suddenly felt smaller, the walls pressing in, and the door impossibly far away.
This was not a negotiation. This was not even extortion. This was a trap, and she had walked into it willingly, believing herself clever enough to manage a monster.
“You are mad.”
“I am patient.” Drakeston’s smile did not waver. “And my patience has finally been rewarded.”
Sophia’s back hit the wall. There was nowhere left to retreat.
“I will scream.” The words scraped past the terror in her throat. “I will scream and bring the entire household running.”
Drakeston’s smile widened. “Will you? Go ahead, then. Scream. Ruin yourself. Destroy whatever shred of reputation you have left.”
“They will see what you are—”
“They will see what I tell them to see.” His hand came up to trace the line of her jaw, his touch featherlight, yet it made her stomach turn. “A desperate spinster who followed a married lord into a dark room. A woman so starved for attention that she threw herself at me, begging for pleasure.”
“That is a lie.”
His fingers tightened on her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Is it? Who will the ton believe, Sophia dear? A marquess of impeccable standing, married for thirty years, respected by his peers? Or a spinster with a ruined family, drowning in debt, desperate enough to do anything for survival?”
Sophia’s heart pounded against her ribs.
He was right. She knew he was right. The ton would take his word over hers without question. They always did. A woman’s reputation was a fragile thing, easily shattered, impossible to repair.
“You see?” Drakeston’s thumb stroked across her lower lip. “You have no power here. You never did. You are mine, Sophia. You have been mine since the moment your father signed his name to those debts.”
Something shifted in her chest. A spark, small at first, flickering to life beneath the weight of her fear.
She thought of her mother trusting Sophia to protect them.
She thought of the matches she had made, the lives she had changed, and the quiet pride she carried in knowing that Lady Fairhart had built something good from the ashes of her family’s disgrace.
She thought of every moment she had endured this man’s cruelty, his wandering hands, his poisonous whispers, all while smiling and curtsying and pretending she was not dying inside.
She was not his. She had never been his. And she would rather burn than let him believe otherwise.
Before she knew what she was doing, her hand flew up and connected with his face. The crack of her palm against his cheek echoed through the room.
Drakeston’s head snapped to the side, and for one glorious moment, he was silent. Stunned.
Then his expression twisted into something ugly. Something terrifying.
“You will regret that,” he hissed.
His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, wrenching it behind her back. Pain lanced up her arm. Sophia cried out, struggling against his grip, but he was too strong, too practiced.
“You stupid girl.” Drakeston shoved her against the wall, pinning her with his body. His free hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back until her neck strained. “Did you think that would stop me? Did you think I would simply let you walk away after you struck me?”
“Let go of me—”
“I am going to teach you a lesson.” His voice dropped to a hiss. “One you will never forget. And when I am finished, you will crawl back to me on your knees, grateful for whatever scraps I choose to give you.”
Bile rose in Sophia’s throat. She twisted in his grip, desperate to break free. Her elbow connected with his ribs, and he grunted but did not release her. His fingers tightened in her hair until tears pricked her eyes, until her scalp burned.
“Fight all you want.” Drakeston’s lips brushed her ear, his breath hot and foul.
“No one is coming to save you. No one even knows you are here. The Duke is too busy to notice you are gone. Your mother thinks you are dancing. Your friends think you are resting. You are alone, Sophia. Completely, utterly alone.”
She would not give up. She would not surrender. Even if no one came, even if she had to fight alone, she would not let him win. She would not let him break her.
Sophia drove her heel down onto his instep. Drakeston cursed, and his grip loosened just enough for her to wrench free. She stumbled away from him, gasping, her wrist throbbing, her heart racing.
But he was between her and the door. And he was already recovering, and his face contorted with rage.
“You will pay for that, you devil-woman!”
He lunged for her.
Sophia dodged, but not fast enough. His hand caught the back of her gown, fingers hooking into the fabric of her bodice. She felt the silk strain, heard the ominous sound of threads beginning to tear.
“No—”
She wrenched forward, trying to pull free, but his grip held. The fabric ripped, cold air hitting her shoulder, her back. She stumbled, off balance, and Drakeston lunged again, his face twisted with fury and something darker.
This was it. This was how it ended.
Alone in the dark, with no one to hear her scream, no one to save her, no one to—