The duchess smiled. "See that you do."
She rose, smoothing her skirts. "I shall leave you to your thoughts, my dear."
Josephine rose as well, dipping into a curtsy. "Thank you, Your Grace."
The duchess touched her cheek fondly, then swept from the room, leaving her torn between hope and fear.
Josephine went to the window and watched the duchess enter her carriage and depart. A slow breath left her body, taking with it a burden she had carried for so long she didn’t even consciously notice it anymore. But it was there nonetheless, guiding her every decision. Making her reject Michael’s devotion. The feeling of worthlessness, of not being enough. Her hand crept to her chest, attempting to still her racing heart.
Perhaps… perhaps there was still a chance for them. Perhaps she was enough.
A sharp rap on the door broke her reverie.
The butler entered once again. "You have another caller, milady."
Josephine hastily wiped at her damp eyes, bracing herself. "Very well. Please, show them in."
She expected one of her friends. Perhaps Hannah or Mrs. Wang.
But when she turned—
She froze.
All the blood drained from her head, her breath locking in her throat.
The pasha stood before her.
The room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in as he smiled—a slow, sinister curve of his lips.
"My dear Josephine," he murmured, his dark eyes gleaming.
She could not move. Could not breathe. She was just a little deer in the sights of a tiger.
Just when she thought she could reach for happiness, the past had reached out from the depths of hell to claim her once more.
CHAPTER 35
“Whatareyoudoinghere?” She hated the small tremor in her voice. Hated even the smallest sign of weakness. But it couldn’t be helped. She was shaking inside. Every part of her body vibrated with tension. Urging her to run, to fight. To scream. To do something.
“Why, my dear, is that any way to greet an old friend?”
The words were like acid pouring over her skin. Burning. Hurting her.
“You are not my friend.”You never were. You were my captor, my torturer. The nightmare I had to endure for twelve years.The words wanted to explode out of her, but a sixth sense urged caution. Warned that she must stay calm and buy time. As much time as possible.
His eyes narrowed. Just a fraction. A sign he was displeased. The first slip of the false affable mask he had decided to don.
“Fine, then. We will dispense with the pleasantries if that’s what you desire. I’ve come to retrieve what’s mine.”
She moved behind the settee. As if the paltry piece of furniture could offer protection against the evil in front of her. But she felt better by having it between them.
“There’s nothing here of yours. I took nothing when I left,” she replied, even though she knew he was not referring to material things. He meant her. She knew it to the core of her soul. He thought he owned her.
His smile was as unpleasant as she remembered. An evil grin that did not reach his eyes.
“Of course there is. You.” He took a few steps and she had to resist the urge to retreat. To take off running. It never worked. He always caught her, and running only made the process more undignified and the punishment harsher.
“I’m not yours, and I’m not going anywhere with you.”
