The Wicked Baroness (The Scandalous Sisters #4)
Prologue
Dearest Sisters,
I tried to reason with the duke, but he would not hear a word I had to say about Lord Griffith.
I know William does not come from great money, but I do not care.
Dowery or not, we will live a happy life together as man and wife.
The duke does not understand what true love is, the dowager does.
Love is filled with hopes and dreams of a better tomorrow, of challenges and sacrifice, of true devotion no matter what obstacles we face.
I will miss you deeply, but I must follow my heart, for I have found the love match our parents wished for each of us.
I hope The Season is wonderful and glorious for you all.
Participating in it was never a path I would have chosen to take for myself.
How I found such an incredible man so quickly is beyond anything I have ever dreamed.
Please wish us well on our journey to Gretna Green.
I will write to you when we are settled.
All my love,
Caillen
Breathtaking.
Caillen looked up at the brilliant blue sky, a mere reflection of her husband’s sapphire eyes.
The rich jewel-toned horizon reminiscent of his alluring gaze the first time they’d met.
The trees in the forest swayed and whispered in the gentle breeze.
Yet, the birds that had filled the afternoon with song, seemed to have lost their voices.
The moment so shocking, not even they could speak.
Something was wrong. Laughably wrong, except she wasn’t laughing. Or breathing.
“Fucking whore,” the stranger hissed.
She was not a whore. She was the very first Baroness Bredlebane.
She was the bashful young bride who’d traveled to Gretna Green with her intended when her guardian ridiculously rejected the baron’s suit.
Theirs was a love story so dear, even the innkeeper’s wife at the coaching inn, a day’s journey from their final destination, had smiled as William respectfully procured two rooms. The innkeeper himself had given an approving wink to her groom-to-be.
It was the reassurance she hadn’t required.
She’d already known her decision to marry William had been the best decision of her life.
“Women are good for one thing and one thing only.” Malice dripped off his words as he groped and pushed.
That wasn’t true. William didn’t believe that.
They hadn’t anticipated their vows at the quaint little inn, where most couples engaged in marital congress prior to saying the words that would bind them for eternity.
Instead, they traveled on with her virtue intact until they reached their destiny of a small one-room church, no bigger than a closet, in the Scottish border town.
But once their vows had been whispered, the cherished words spoken in hushed tones as they gazed into each other’s eyes, passion had driven them out into the night and back into their carriage where their true feelings were unveiled.
Deep-seated emotions exposed, raw and carnal, their intensity flaring to life.
But then the pang she had prepared for had been more than a twinge. And the moment—endless. She had never expected excruciating pain to travel through her body as if it were an open flame lighting a trail of gun powder.
“William…” she gasped, her agony refusing to be extinguished in the fire’s wake. It chased more fuel and burned brighter, igniting every inch of her flesh as if she were kindling for a wild journey of fury.
And then with a masculine roar so powerful she thought her ears would explode; it was over.
She gazed at her husband lying next to her and a tear ran down her cheek.
They were no longer in their borrowed coach.
How that had come to be, she wasn’t certain.
Nor was their marital bed filled with luxurious goose down and adorned with the expensive embroidered silk bed coverings William had described.
Their marital mattress was, in fact, made of mud.
Mud which embraced their bodies as if it were their final resting place.
She wished it were.
“Caillen.”
She stared at his lips.
“Darling girl, speak to me,” he pleaded.
She couldn’t.
“Caillen.”
He gently touched her shoulder and she couldn’t stop from flinching.
“I’m sorry. It will be alright. Everything will be alright.”
Except that it wasn’t, nor would it ever be.
“Caillen look at me.”
She was. Why didn’t he realize that?
He grasped both her shoulders this time, refusing to allow her to escape.
She screamed as an unholy terror filled her mind, body and soul.
It wasn’t William holding her. His face suddenly came into focus in an entirely different light as the scent of copper permeated the fog of her existence.
Her handsome, adoring husband lay next to her with a hole in the back of his head, while remnants of the left side of his perfectly formed cheekbone and patrician nose decorated her chest. It was as if she had participated in a food battle with her little sister, and their mother’s cherry pie had exploded upon impact on her chest. The weight of the gore covering her, however, felt like a set of chains binding her in place.
She couldn’t move, nor did she want to. She wanted to die next to the man whom she’d pledged her undying love.
Except it seemed she was destined for another fate. Hell would be her endless and everlasting eternity, not love.
“Caillen.”
She heard her name. Knew she should answer. She couldn’t.
Not even when ebony eyes blocked out the view of her husband, and the beautiful sky above, that piece of heaven she desperately wanted to hold onto.
Not when the familiar man she should recognize shook her shoulders, yelled in her face, and cursed like nothing she had ever heard before that day.
She didn’t react when he carried her to a stream and began tenderly washing her in the ice-cold water.
William was gone. She didn’t care about anything else.
Not about her life, her future, her modesty as the man gently tore what was left of her clothing from her body and exposed every inch of her to his assessing gaze.
She didn’t care that he wasn’t her husband or that he was seeing more of her than was proper.
She felt his hands upon her, heard his soothing, melodic voice as he scrubbed her, dried her, and stripped off his shirt to dress her.
All the while she stared at the vast blue sky and wondered, Why?