“A good bookseller always knows,” he interrupted with a wink.
He placed the book in her hands. And though Evelyne still didn’t understand, its weight brought a quiet comfort. As her hands closed around it, a strange feeling rose in her chest. Like a hum of recognition, or a sense of connection.
“It feels… right,” she murmured, half to herself.
The old man only smiled and whispered, “I knew it would be.”
She paid for the book and tucked it into her coat pocket before leaving the shop. Outside, the market buzzed around her, but Evelyne’s mind stayed on the book and the strange encounter. Lanterns glowed as nobles drifted between stalls, and she offered polite smiles, eager to reach the carriage and examine her gift. Yet as she walked, the streets suddenly felt unfamiliar. Evelyne paused, realizing she had taken a wrong turn.
The crowd thinned, and the market chatter seemed to fade into an unsettling quiet. Her pulse quickened as she tried to retrace her steps, her hand tightening instinctively around the book in her pocket. Spinning on her heel, she sought to rejoin the busy thoroughfare when a shadow fell across her path.
“Lady Evelyne,” came a voice she knew all too well.
Lord Ivan Bavrick approached slowly, a smile on his lips, his steps encroaching on her space.
She offered a curt nod, masking her unease. “Good evening, Lord Bavrick.”
“It’s a shame we were interrupted the other night,” he said, stepping closer. “I was enjoying our conversation.”
Evelyne’s discomfort grew as his words slurred slightly. The scent of wine on his breath was unmistakable.
“I’m afraid I must get back to my sister,” she said lightly, attempting to move past him.
“Oh, come now,” he said, blocking her path. “Just a few words. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.” He looked down at her hands, clutching her coat. “I’ve been waiting to be alone with you.”
She offered a tight smile, trying to defuse the situation. “Perhaps another time.”
She tried to push past him, and his expression darkened. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist tightly.
“You’re quite the beauty, Lady Evelyne. But I don’t appreciate being made a fool of.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Evelyne tried to shake her wrist from his grip. “Let me go,” she demanded, panic rising as he dragged her into a shadowed alley.
He shoved her against the cold brick wall, his body pinning hers in place. “No one’s watching,” he murmured against her neck.
Bile filled her throat as he brushed his fingers against her cheek. She thrashed against him. His nearness made her skin crawl, and all she wanted was for him to move away.
“Let go, Ivan!” She threw her weight against him, desperate to escape, but instead of freedom, she felt him press in closer.
His repulsive lips grazed her neck, and he let out a groan of pleasure as his foul hands crept beneath her skirts.
She was shouting now. “Stop it! Get your hands off me!”
But the alley walls seemed to swallow her cries. Tears began blurring her vision as he started ripping at her undergarments and touching her. She knew all too well what he was intending, and no matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t break free from his unyielding grip. She was going to vomit.
“Stop it!” she tried to scream, her voice now a quiet rasp.
“Hold your tongue,” he said through clenched teeth, covering her mouth with a rough palm. “You would do well to show your future husband the deference he is due.”
Husband?She would sooner die than wed such a loathsome brute. The very notion of becoming his wife was so revolting it spurred her into action, and she sank her teeth into his hand with all the force she could muster.
He recoiled with a growl, then struck her hard across the cheek.
“A wife ought to know her place,” he hissed, seizing her more firmly as he lowered his mouth toward her chest.
Panic flared as his grip locked around her like iron, impossible to escape. And then, as the cruel truth of her helplessness took hold, a faint, broken whimper escaped her lips—a sound heavy with anguish and the beginning of surrender.
He was monstrous. Vile beyond words. A man devoid of decency, or even a shred of humanity. She shut her eyes tightly, steeling herself for the horror she could no longer prevent. But as despair threatened to swallow her whole, a furious voice broke through the darkness like a crack of thunder.
