Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Joan! Get up! Now!”
Joan woke to the sound of her door slamming open, her brother’s frantic voice cutting through the fog of sleep. She bolted upright, her heart immediately racing. Damian stood in the doorway, still in his nightclothes, his face pale and twisted with fear.
“What—”
“Julian is here,” Damian said, his voice tight. “He’s at the front door with men. We have to run. Right now.”
The words sent ice flooding through Joan’s veins. She threw back the covers and leaped from the bed, not bothering with slippers or a robe over her nightdress. Across the room, Victoria was already up, her eyes wide with terror.
“How did he find us?” Victoria’s voice came out as barely a whisper.
“It doesn’t matter,” Damian snapped. “We need to leave. Through the back. Hurry!”
The pounding on the front door grew louder—heavy, insistent thuds that seemed to shake the very walls of the manor. Joan heard men’s voices shouting, demanding entry.
“Open this door immediately! By order of the Earl of Aldridge!”
Joan grabbed Victoria’s hand and pulled her toward the door. Damian was already in the corridor, gesturing frantically for them to follow.
They ran through the darkened house, their bare feet slapping against cold floors. Joan could hear the servants stirring in confusion, Sarah’s frightened voice calling out questions that went unanswered.
The pounding at the front door intensified.
“Faster!” Damian urged.
They burst through the kitchen and out the back door into the frigid predawn air. The sky was still dark, stars fading as the first hint of light touched the horizon.
Peters was already there, thank God, standing beside the carriage with the horses harnessed and ready. His weathered face was grim but determined.
“Quickly, Miss Sinclair! Lord Sinclair! Miss Victoria!”
Joan practically threw Victoria into the carriage, scrambling in after her. Damian followed, slamming the door shut.
“Go!” he shouted to Peters. “Go now!”
Peters didn’t need to be told twice. He cracked the reins, and the horses lunged forward, the carriage jerking into motion with enough force to throw Joan against the seat.
Victoria clutched at Joan’s arm, her whole body shaking. “He found us. Oh God, Joan, he found us—”
“Hush,” Joan said, though her own voice trembled. “We’re getting away. We’re—”
The carriage suddenly lurched to a violent stop, throwing all three of them forward. Joan heard Peters shout in alarm, heard the horses whinnying in distress.
“What—” Damian reached for the door handle.
But before he could open it, Joan heard the sound of footsteps. Many footsteps. Surrounding the carriage on all sides.
And then a voice—smooth, cultured, and utterly cold.
“Come out now, Miss Sinclair. There’s nowhere left to run.”
Julian Hawthorne.
Joan felt Victoria go rigid beside her, felt her sister’s fingers dig into her arm hard enough to bruise.
Through the small window, Joan could see shapes moving in the dim light. Men. At least six of them, maybe more. They had surrounded the carriage completely.
Another carriage, Joan realized with sinking dread. They had another carriage waiting at the back. They knew we would try to run.
“Miss Sinclair,” Julian’s voice came again, closer now. Right outside their door. “I know you can hear me. You have two choices. You can come out peacefully, or my men can drag you out. I assure you, the latter option will be far less pleasant.”
Joan looked at Damian, whose face had gone white with fury. His hand moved toward his coat—where he kept a pistol, Joan remembered suddenly.
“Don’t,” she whispered urgently. “Damian, don’t. There are too many of them.”
“I won’t let him take her,” Damian hissed back.
“You won’t be able to stop him if you’re dead,” Joan shot back.
Victoria had begun to cry—silent tears streaming down her face as she pressed herself against Joan’s side.
The carriage door handle rattled. “My patience is wearing thin, Miss Sinclair. I’m going to count to ten. If you haven’t emerged by then, my men will break down this door and remove you by force.”
Julian began counting. His voice almost bored.
“One.”
Joan’s mind raced frantically. They were trapped. Surrounded. “Two.”
She looked at Victoria’s terrified face and felt something harden in her chest.
“Three.”
No, she thought fiercely. I will not let him have her. I won’t.
“Four.”
But what choice did they have? If they tried to fight, someone would get hurt. Maybe killed. And Julian would take Victoria anyway.
“Five.”
Unless…
“Six.”
An idea formed—desperate, reckless, but perhaps their only chance.
“Seven.”
Joan squeezed Victoria’s hand tightly, then turned to meet Damian’s eyes.
“Eight.”
“Trust me,” she whispered.
“Nine.”
Joan reached for the door handle.
“Ten.”
Joan pushed the door open and stepped down from the carriage, her bare feet meeting the cold, dew-dampened grass. The frigid morning air cut through her thin nightdress, but she kept her chin high and her expression calm despite the terror coursing through her veins.
Julian Hawthorne stood directly in front of the carriage, flanked by six burly men who looked more like hired thugs than proper servants.
He was dressed impeccably despite the early hour, dark coat, pristine cravat, boots polished to a mirror shine.
His blond hair was perfectly arranged, and his handsome face wore an expression of smug satisfaction.
“We meet again, Miss Sinclair,” he said smoothly.
“Truly unfortunate,” Joan replied, her voice cold.
Julian’s mouth twitched with irritation, but he quickly schooled his features back into pleasant civility. He cleared his throat and took a step closer.
“I know things didn’t go well the last time we encountered each other,” he said, his tone maddeningly reasonable.
“But I want you to understand that I’ve changed.
I know better now. I’ve sent the other woman away, she means nothing to me.
When she gives birth, the child will be raised as Victoria’s own.
The birth mother will have no involvement whatsoever.
It will be as though the child were born legitimately to our marriage. ”
Joan stared at him in disbelief. “You want my sister to raise your illegitimate child?” The words came out as barely more than a whisper.
Julian’s pleasant expression cracked. His eyes flashed with anger, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost all pretense of gentleness.
“You have no choice here, Miss Sinclair. Victoria is engaged to me. That contract was signed and witnessed. She will marry me, or I will make your family’s life absolute hell. Do you understand?”
Joan’s mind raced. Julian’s family was old, powerful, deeply connected throughout Parliament and the courts.
He could destroy them. She could see Damian stripped of his position.
He could spread rumors that would make Victoria’s current scandal look like nothing.
Could ruin them so thoroughly that they would never recover.
“I’m trying to be reasonable,” Julian continued, his voice taking on a harder edge. “I love your sister. This time, I won’t do anything to hurt her. She’ll have everything she could want—title, wealth, position. All she has to do is fulfill her obligations as my wife.”
He loved her? What a joke! Joan looked at his face and realized that something was deeply wrong with him. She dearly wished she had seen this sooner.
“You cannot marry my sister,” Joan said quietly. “You are not worthy of her.”
Julian’s jaw clenched. “Are you hard of hearing or simply slow-witted? I just explained that I can crush your family. Your brother will lose his position. Your name will be dragged through every scandal sheet in London. You’ll be penniless and homeless within a month. Is that what you want?”
Joan felt a strange calm settle over her. “I’ll marry you.”
The words fell into the silence like stones into still water.
For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed.
Then the carriage door burst open with explosive force. Damian leaped down, his face contorted with fury and disbelief.
“Absolutely not! Joan, have you lost your mind? I forbid it! I—”
Joan raised her hand, and to her surprise, Damian fell silent. He stood there trembling with rage and fear, but he obeyed her wordless command.
Behind him, Victoria appeared in the doorway, her face as pale as death. She stared at Joan with wide, horrified eyes.
Julian was looking at Joan with an expression somewhere between confusion and calculation. “What does that mean? You’ll marry me?”
“Exactly what I said.” Joan kept her voice steady, businesslike. “You need to restore your reputation. I can help you do that.”
“You?” Julian’s laugh was sharp and dismissive. “What would people think if I married the elder sister instead of my betrothed? I’d look like a fool.”
“Your reputation is already in tatters,” Joan said flatly.
“Everyone knows about your mistress. About the baby. About the documents she leaked. Marrying Victoria now would make you look pathetic, a desperate man clinging to a woman who ran from him. But marrying me?” She took a step closer.
“That’s a different narrative entirely.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed, but he was listening.
“Everyone knows I had no interest in marriage during my debut—I made that abundantly clear. If I agree to marry you now, it suggests that Victoria’s scandal was blown out of proportion.
That the real issue was her youth and inexperience, not your behavior.
It makes you look like the mature party who chose the wiser, more suitable bride. ”
“People will still talk,” Julian said, but his voice had lost some of its certainty.
“Let them talk. Your reputation cannot get much worse than it already is. But I won’t allow you to make my sister a laughingstock, to force her into a marriage where she’d be expected to raise your mistress’s child while society whispers and points.”
Julian’s face darkened. “You’re being presumptuous, Miss Sinclair. I could simply take Victoria by force and—”
“And I would file a case with the magistrate,” Joan interrupted.
“Yes, you could control the outcome. Your family’s influence would ensure that.
But the scandal would be enormous. Every detail would be aired publicly, the mistress, the baby, the theft of documents, your pursuit of a woman who fled from you.
Both our families would be utterly ruined. ”
She held his gaze steadily. “But if you marry me, you can do whatever you wish with anyone. I won’t interfere in your personal affairs.
And in return, I will sanitize your image.
I’m connected to several charitable organizations in London, orphanages, hospitals, schools for the poor.
As your wife, I can make you look like a reformed man.
A philanthropist. A gentleman who made one mistake but is now dedicated to good works. ”
Julian studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then his gaze shifted to Victoria, who stood frozen in the carriage doorway, and back to Joan.
“You’re pretty enough, I suppose,” he said slowly. “Just as beautiful as your sister. And you’re clearly more intelligent.” His mouth curved into a cold smile. “Yes, this could work. This could actually work quite well.”
He took a step closer, and Joan forced herself not to retreat.
“Very well, Miss Sinclair. I accept your offer.” He held out his hand. “We have an agreement.”
Joan looked at his extended hand and felt bile rise in her throat. But she reached out and placed her hand in his, feeling his fingers close around hers like a trap snapping shut.
“Go back to London,” she said quietly. “Prepare for the wedding. I’ll come in a few days’ time.”
Julian’s smile widened into something triumphant and cruel. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles that made her skin crawl.
“You are a smart one, Miss,” he said. He paused, then added with obvious satisfaction, “Or should I say—wife.”
Julian released Joan’s hand and turned toward his own carriage, his men falling into step behind him. But he paused before climbing inside, glancing back over his shoulder with that same cold, satisfied smile.
“You know,” he said conversationally, “I don’t mind the idea of marrying both sisters. Something to consider for the future, perhaps.”
His laugh echoed through the predawn air as he climbed into his carriage. The door slammed shut, and within moments, the vehicle was rolling away, taking Julian and his hired thugs back toward the road.
The moment they disappeared from view, Joan felt her knees begin to buckle.
Damian caught her instantly, his arms wrapping around her shoulders to hold her upright. “Joan! What have you done? What have you—”
“Not now.” Joan’s voice came out surprisingly steady despite the way her entire body had begun to tremble. She pulled away from her brother’s grip and straightened her spine, forcing strength into her limbs through sheer willpower.
“Joan, you cannot possibly—”
“I said not now, Damian.” She turned toward the carriage where Victoria still stood frozen in the doorway, tears streaming silently down her face. Peters sat motionless on the driver’s box, his weathered face pale with shock.
Joan climbed back into the carriage. She settled onto the seat and looked at her siblings with an expression of calm determination that she did not feel.
“Let’s get some more sleep,” she said firmly. “We will discuss this in the afternoon.”
Victoria opened her mouth to protest or plead, Joan couldn’t tell, but Joan’s expression must have conveyed something that made her sister think better of it. Victoria nodded and climbed back inside, her movements mechanical.
Damian stood outside for a long moment, his face a mask of anguish and fury and helplessness. Then he too climbed in, closing the door behind him with careful precision.
“Peters,” Joan called out, her voice carrying clearly through the small window. “Take us home, please.”
“Yes, Miss Sinclair,” Peters replied quietly, and the carriage lurched into motion.
The ride back to the manor was silent save for the creak of wheels and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves. Victoria sat pressed against Joan’s side, shaking with silent sobs. Damian stared out the window, his jaw clenched so tightly that Joan could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
And Joan sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap, her face composed and serene.
Inside, where no one could see, she was screaming.