Chapter 22
Two days later, the drumming of demolition hammers echoed through the grand townhouse.
With satisfaction, Will watched the last ghastly remains of the ballroom disappear, collapsing into dust and rubble.
The blood had eaten deep into the stone, and the pickaxes struck farther and farther until the final traces had been carved out.
He observed the work from the open doorway where the third-floor parlor had once been and where an abyss now yawned before him.
The doors still hung from their hinges as though inviting him to jump, but Will looked down upon everything like a conqueror, his slain enemy lying at his feet.
He could almost feel the house’s anger as it peered over his shoulder at the battlefield of its own entrails.
“Will, do you have a moment?” Elodie asked.
Will handed his notes to one of the workers and turned to her with curiosity. Two guests stood beside Elodie. The man was more skeleton than living flesh, and with his narrow spectacles and long black coat, he possessed the aura of a scholar of the dark arts.
Will recognized the lady beside him: the stern expression, the dark, wrinkled skin, and the piercing eyes. A small veil covered her face.
“Duchess Wilkinson,” he said. He accepted the hand she offered and bowed over it, brushing it with the suggestion of a kiss. As on the train, every inch of her skin was covered in velvet, lace, or leather, making her hand feel strangely lifeless in his.
“Mr. Frank—I cannot decide whether I am relieved to discover what you truly are or disappointed. An interior designer…”
Will summoned his most charming smile and swept his hair over one shoulder with a dramatic gesture. “My magic lies in bringing old walls back to life. You know where to find me should you ever require my services.” He winked, and the duchess gave a scandalized snort.
“We require an independent witness,” Elodie interjected, striding toward an abandoned guest room without waiting for them.
“Your interior designer?” the old duchess asked, making no effort to conceal her outrage. “Is there no lady of rank left in this house?”
Elodie pushed open the door. “No. And this way, we may finally put an end to those wretched rumors that I have taken Mr. Frank as my lover.”
Were such rumors circulating? Under the woman’s devastating stare, Will struggled not to grin. No one had ever accused him of pursuing women before.
“We shall see,” the duchess muttered, her heels striking the stone floor with particular bitterness. “I do not understand why you expose yourself to the danger of such rumors at all.”
Elodie’s silent maid was already tending a fire in the soot-blackened hearth, while Hedgefort plumped the pillows on the bed.
He poured tea into a delicate set Will had never seen used before.
The royal-blue porcelain was so thin that the pale sunlight shone through it, and the golden animals painted across its surface were so elaborate that they seemed to dance around the rim.
“Your Grace…” Hedgefort drew out a chair beside the small table and helped the lady sit.
Meanwhile, the second guest set a leather bag on the bed and began arranging the instruments inside, wiping each of them with a cloth.
Will could not imagine why Elodie required a doctor, a duchess, and a witness.
Nevertheless, he took his place beside the fireplace and watched the scene unfold according to a script whose words he did not know.
Hedgefort withdrew and closed the door behind him.
“Your Grace, if you please.” The doctor gestured toward the bed.
Elodie nodded and, to Will’s surprise, cast him an uncertain look he could not read. She sat on the bed opposite the old duchess, drew up her legs, and spread them apart. Then she gathered her skirts.
“Your Grace!” Will stammered as she exposed the first inches of bare skin above her stockings.
“Mr. Frank. It is all right.” She smiled at him calmly and lowered herself onto the pillows. The dress fell away completely, revealing her naked sex.
Time stopped. Will’s universe narrowed into a vortex, everything centering on the dark curls, the fleshy lips like flower petals.
His face burning, Will turned away. He had certainly not expected his first glimpse beneath a woman’s skirts to happen today, least of all like this.
He had learned female anatomy in school, seen nudity in life-drawing classes, and listened to his friends’ descriptions, yet he was utterly unprepared.
The doctor stepped between Elodie’s legs while the old duchess sipped her tea. No one but Will appeared to find any of this unusual.
“Your Grace, I should not be here,” he finally managed. He had to admit that he had imagined her lying down on the bloodstained altar too many times, her head falling back with a moan while he knelt before her in worship—a sinner seeking salvation through his offering.
But not like this. This held none of the enchantment he had dreamed of. Nothing of the silent moment filled with heated breaths that he had imagined. This was cold and clinical.
The doctor positioned an instrument between her legs, and Elodie’s thighs twitched. She propped herself up on her forearms, and her gaze found Will.
“She is intact,” the doctor said.
At last, Will understood. Elodie was not playing with him. Her eyes had already darted toward the old duchess, triumphant.
“Satisfied?” she asked coolly.
“Hmm…” The older woman took another slow sip of tea. “I wish to see for myself.” Another sip, and the doctor stepped away.
Elodie waited patiently, her legs spread, her sex open and exposed to the brutality of the world.
With some effort, the old duchess rose, limped to the bed, and bent over Elodie. For a moment, her body blocked Will’s view, but he heard Elodie gasp. An eternity later, Her Grace straightened and returned to her chair.
“Mr. Frank. Your turn. Attest to our duchess’s virginity.
” Malice dripped from the older woman’s words as she deliberately prolonged Elodie’s suffering.
She wanted to see when Elodie would break, when she would close her legs, when the cool mask would crack and reveal the small, vulnerable girl beneath it.
But Elodie remained strong.
Will was beside her before he had time to think. He stepped between the duchess and Elodie, sought her gaze, and allowed his face to show all the compassion and pain she denied herself. She merely nodded.
Will lowered his eyes to the dusky pink of her sex and the white skin of her thighs. Had it not been for the terrible metal holding her open, he might have forgotten the circumstances for a moment. Instead, he only nodded, uncertain what he was supposed to be looking for.
“I attest to it,” he said, beckoning the doctor over.
A short while later, Elodie closed her legs, folded her skirts over them, and smiled at the duchess. “The doctor has already confirmed my health and fertility, the psychiatrist my soundness of mind, and the notary my right of inheritance. Does Your Grace require anything else?”
The older woman shook her head.
Elodie had won.