Chapter 20
GRACE
Grace stood at the door to a fancy house she had never been to, her heart pounding, but not for the reason it had so often in the past.
Nina waited by the carriage, in the shadows of the summer night.
Grace felt she was betraying her marital vows. This was unfitting for a married woman—to stand at the door of the man who had jilted her at the altar. But she wanted to look into his cowardly eyes, wanted an answer for why he had done it.
With a sudden fit of irritation, Grace fixed her hat and rang the bell.
“I am here to see his lordship,” she told the doorman. “Mrs. Mawr is asking for him,” she clarified, suddenly feeling a foot taller at the sound of her own name.
Once upon a time, she’d dreamed of being a lady, the wife of an earl. Well, now she was the wife of the Diamond King.
“Please, follow me.” The doorman gestured for her to come in.
The place was much larger than Charles’s former flat and decorated with expensive artwork. That familiar nauseating floral scent saturated the air, mixing with a heavy stench of wine.
“Gracie…”
The voice came from another doorway, Charles’s slouching figure taking slow steps toward her.
A brief sensation jolted her heart, though she could not quite figure it out. It was nostalgic, like looking at an old rarity one was used to but sold it to someone else.
Charles seemed somehow small. Compared to Drasko Mawr, Grace thought briefly. She took in his uncombed hair, the crumpled shirt, the dark circles under his eyes. Everything once dear to her was oddly tainted with an alien sensation of disappointment.
“Does he know you are here?” were the first words, cold and wary, out of his mouth.
“No,” Grace said, studying him. The flutter she used to get at the sight of him had vanished.
“Charles, dear, Tom said we have visit—” A woman rushed into the room, but her words cut off abruptly as she stopped in her tracks.
Meredith Sullivan, the opera singer. Of course. Grace knew her well, had been in the same company once or twice, the same company as Charles. The woman had attended their wedding.
The overbearing floral perfume hit Grace’s nostrils.
So, this is true.
“Oh, Grace!” The woman flashed an insincere smile. “My apologies. I didn’t know it was you. How… how nice to see you. You are married now…”
And not to Charles.
Now Grace understood what had bothered her on her wedding day, all the rumors about these two she had naively dismissed.
And here he was, a traitor, only weeks after the failed wedding and already with a paramour.
Grace looked at the man she’d thought she had loved and couldn’t quite understand why. In fact, now that she thought of Drasko Mawr, she saw clearly that Charles was a sheep compared to a wolf.
Embarrassment washed over her for having ever wanted this man.
Grace had far more respect for her unwanted husband than for these two.
More admiration, yes. More curiosity, definitely.
She thought about Drasko Mawr, the power that emanated from him, how it had made her feel walking next to him on the streets of London the other day—proud.
Her heart started pounding at the mere thought of him, even now, while she was… betraying him.
“What brings you here, Grace?”
Charles’s voice snapped her attention back to him.
Meredith scrutinized Grace’s lavish dress. “Where is your important husband? Did he give you the biggest diamond yet?” She snorted. “Or is he saving them for his paramours?”
The words stung Grace. She didn’t know about any women in Drasko’s life. He could be just like Charles, having a woman on the side. The difference was that Drasko hadn’t promised her anything, wasn’t pretending to be in love with her like Charles once had. Look at him now!
Being in the same room with these two somehow marred her.
“I shouldn’t have come,” Grace said, turned on her heel, and walked out.
With relief, she inhaled the hot summer air outside, the smell of the blooming trees that erased the reek of Meredith’s perfume.
Nina’s shadow loomed by the carriage.
“We are leaving,” Grace ordered as she walked hurriedly toward it, but her woman-guard stepped in front of her, blocking her way, and nodded up the street.
Another carriage stood a little up ahead, a tall broad-shouldered person next to it—Drasko.
Her knees buckled. “Traitor,” she blurted at Nina.
“I had no part in this, ma’am,” the woman-guard argued.
On shaky legs, Grace started walking toward her husband.
Was this the night he would punish her for her betrayal? Was this the night that would show his true character? That would give her a true sense of what some other women talked about, the “burdens” of marriage, the bruises and harsh words and occasional violence.
Shiver running down her spine, Grace approached and slowly came to a halt several feet away from him.
He flicked his cigarette away and stretched his hand to her. “Come here.”
There was no anger in his voice, just the usual coldness. If it weren’t too dark, Grace could have seen his eyes and perhaps been able to tell what was to come.
She hesitated.
“I am not angry, darling,” he said, his hand still there for her. “Not quite yet. Don’t be afraid.”
But it terrified her, his calmness at what she had done.
She did not want Charles and had not an ounce of feelings left toward him. But—it was a revelation—she wanted to be with her husband, wanted to make this arrangement work, wanted to know he had the decency to stay away from other women.
One step, then another, her heart skipping a beat, she put her hand in his that closed gently around hers.
He led her to the open door of the carriage and helped her inside.
“Did you get your answers?” he asked as he took a seat next to her, filling the entire dim space with his presence.
Yes , her mind whispered. “No,” she said, too ashamed to admit it.
“Wasn’t that what you came here for?”
“I decided I already had my answers.”
“And they are?”
“Not of any importance to you, I suppose.”
Silence followed as the carriage started moving.
“We have made a deal, Grace,” he said a tiny bit harsher.
“And we agreed that I can go wherever I want,” she responded, hating her own weak defense.
“To a decent extent. I do not go to other women, do I? To prove my point and all?”
She turned to look at him. “I don’t know that.”
His green eyes met hers. One brow lifted in surprise. “Hmm. And you think I would?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“I would never do that. Because unlike you, I do value marital vows. Despite our peculiar circumstances.”
She could think of no answer. Fighting through the sting, she stared down at her hands, hating herself for how right he was and how wrong she was about him.
“Forgive me,” she said barely audibly, drowning in shame.
“Tell me something. Did you love him?”
That was why she’d come here, she now realized—not to get answers from Charles but to see if what she had once felt for him was true or just a silly infatuation.
Tears burned her eyes at the realization—her past feelings were a mirage.
“No,” she said bravely.
“But you were looking forward to marrying him, unlike me. May I know why?”
“He was good-hearted.”
“ That he was not.”
She huffed in frustration. She knew it now. “He was noble.”
“Only in his title.”
True. “Attentive.”
“The clerks in department stores are attentive.”
“Kind.” She was running out of words and lies, for they definitely felt like lies now that she thought about Charles.
“A kind cheater.”
The word stung her. “Will you stop?” she whispered, holding back a sob.
“They live together,” he said quietly. “Since the day of our wedding. Perhaps, you understand now that all this was for the better.”
She didn’t answer, the remnants of the floral stench making her sick.
“What is it do you think makes a happy marriage?” he asked after some time.
That was an easy question. “Love,” she declared bitterly, knowing she’d never loved Charles after all. “Friendship.”
Her husband chuckled. “Love… Is that what you call it when your fiancé shags his paramour on your wedding day?”
She winced. A chill went through her. She didn’t have time to process what he had said when he spoke again.
“What else goes into that precious list? Parties? Balls? Jewelry? Most of the married couples you know don’t love each other. Nor are they friends . Wives are often trophies to men. Husbands are usually a necessity or a chore to women. You know what makes a marriage work?”
“Enlighten me,” she said with bitterness, squeezing her hands on her lap to focus on the physical pain instead of her aching heart.
“Satisfaction, Grace. Give me time, and you will see that the day I married you I saved you from someone who would have made you truly unhappy. Our marriage might not sound like a fairytale or even a consensual match, but we agreed we shall make it work. With the conditions I provided. With the ones you asked for in return. And now I have more.”
“Of course, you do.”
“I told you I want heirs, perhaps two or three.”
There it was—new rules. “Yes, we discussed that.”
“I am a man, and I have certain needs. And I am—what was the word you used?—an attentive man.”
She frowned, not understanding.
“I can make you very happy in bed.”
Heat scorched her face at the words.
“And I will,” he said. “So, we will kill two birds with one stone. We will fulfill our marital duties and have children. Twice a month, we spend a night together.”
She was acutely aware of her husband, of his words, the two nights , the idea of it suddenly setting her body on fire, much like those scandalous Hindu artworks around his house.
“I suppose I do not have a choice,” she murmured just to say something.
His fingers tipped her chin, turning her face up so she looked at him.
That touch! The glow in his eyes! The way the air burned between them as their gazes stayed locked!
It mortified her, yet excited her. The thought that she, indeed, wanted to see what it was like to be a wife brought the deepest feeling—relief.
“You do, Grace. You are young and stubborn, but you do have a choice.” His gaze softened.
“People can be forced to do the most beautiful and the most atrocious things. Trust me, I know.” She flinched at the words.
“But your heart can never be forced. What it can do is accept what we have and what we will have, make peace with it instead of rebelling. Once you make peace with the agreement, it will be easier for you to tolerate me.”
She didn’t understand why she felt so weak and desperately wanted him to comfort her. Why she tried so hard to resent him, yet was relieved that he wasn’t mocking her, moreover, that there wouldn’t be any punishment.
His fingers still held her chin, the gesture so intimidating and possessive. She suddenly craved his closeness, wanted a kiss, yet there was no indication in his eyes that he wanted the same.
She let her lips curl into a smirk. “Is that what you have to tell yourself to be able to tolerate the wife you never wanted?”