Chapter 2
Early morning streaks of sunlight fell upon the perfect script that sprawled across the pristine white parchment held in Bryce’s hand. After five years of playing cat and mouse with his intended, the chit had the audacity to summon him. And by summon, he meant the woman had employed the resources of the Network, which he had so carefully avoided in order to give her the opportunity to gracefully and equitably end their engagement. He squinted and analyzed the missive once more. The symmetrical calligraphy strokes were nearly identical to those in his betrothal agreement with Helen. Ire born from pure frustration rose within him. With a deep sigh, he leaned back in his chair, crumpled the note into a ball, threw it into the air overhead, and then caught it. He repeated the action again and again as he mulled over the terms of his engagement. The same terms he himself had drafted, memorized, and requested to be included in the betrothal agreement that was intended to ally their families. He even had to play and win a blasted game of chess with her papa, who was the grand master at the time, in order for the man to agree to allow Helen the freedom to choose when and where they were to marry. Even at the tender age of eight, Bryce had known it was wrong to force a woman to wed a man she hadn’t chosen against her will. He caught the wadded paper in his left hand and thought about throwing it into the unlit fireplace for a moment before leaning forward to flatten the blasted missive against his desk to read it once more.
Dear Duke of Whistlestop
Cadby’s tobacco store.
Alone.
Eleven in morn.
Sincerely, Lady Helen
His favorite image of Helen, seated between her papa and him at the chess board in the old earl’s study, appeared as his eyes shuttered. With her strawberry-blonde hair tucked behind her ears, she had gazed adoringly up at her papa with her curiosity-filled brown eyes waiting to see what move the man would make next. In his youth, Bryce had hoped that one day she would gaze upon him with such awe and admiration, but as the years passed, Helen remained oblivious to his efforts to garner her attention. While he enjoyed playing live chess with the daughter of the man who had taught him how to play the game of strategy, he couldn’t continue to deflect the pressure of the Network elders who were demanding that they wed. He needed to gain Helen’s agreement to marry or put a cease to his infatuation with the woman.
Bryce glanced at his timepiece. An hour was plenty of time for him to make his way to the east side of town, but unwilling to be tardy to the meeting initiated by Helen, he pushed back his chair from the century-old desk and rose. He tugged on his coat sleeve and then the other. By the end of the day, one way or another he would have a firm decision as to whether his life would include Helen or not. No more living in limbo.
Bryce steppedup into his coach and ignored the tingling sensation along the skin at the back of his neck. It was natural to be alarmed. After all, it would be the first time in over five years that he and Helen would be alone in the same space. Memories of their last meeting, with Helen standing before him in his study, hands clasped behind her back, head bent and gaze affixed on the edge of his desk, reopened the wounds in his heart.She had spoken no more than ten to fifteen words the entire conversation, but he would never forget her reply to his question as to who she might consider marrying. Those three words had stabbed him straight through the heart: “Anyone but you.”
His knees gave way and he found himself falling back onto the forward-facing bench. Not one to delay dealing with matters, Bryce rapped on the ceiling and called out, “Cadby’s, post haste.”
Exhausted from yet another night of restless sleep and lulled by the gentle sway of the coach, Bryce leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He pictured Helen seated at the Network elders’ table that was secretly stashed in one of Cadby’s back rooms. Unable to formulate another rational reason for her to suddenly summon him other than to inform him that she wished to end their betrothal and marry another, Bryce rubbed his temples. Recalling the events they attended over the past year, he couldn’t recall a single time when she had shown a particular interest or paid any favor to any one of the gentlemen of their acquaintance, yet he would wager all of his estate that was not entailed, which amounted to a handsome sum, that Helen intended to request to be released from the twenty-year-old agreement.
The momentum of the coach slowed and two men—men he’d never seen before—entered the coach on both sides. He sized up his attackers who were definitely not ruffians yet they were not dressed to the nines as gentlemen. Who were these men and what in the bloody hell did they want with him? Before he could utter the questions plaguing him, Bryce found himself pinned to the coach floor. Darkness descended upon him as one man held a handkerchief over his nose and mouth. Lord save him, for if he lived, Helen would be livid for his failure to appear. If he didn’t survive, he’d at least rest in peace knowing her wish to be free of him would be fulfilled.