The name struck like a north wind. Christine stopped on the stairs, heart jolting.
Lady Gillray swept in as though she still commanded every threshold Christine crossed. Her plum-colored silk rustled like the hiss of an adder.
“My dear ward,” she said, lifting her veil, “you are not easy to find, even when I know precisely where you are to be found.”
Christine forced her voice steady. “Nor am I obliged to be found.”
Gillray’s smile showed the small, sharp teeth of victory. “So bold. Greystone has spoiled you.”
Her gaze swept the hall, noting the servants’ deferential glances. “A duke’s house can make even a scullery maid fancy herself a lady.”
Christine came down the steps. “What do you want?”
“What I have always wanted. What is mine. You will pack your things. We leave tonight.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Do not test me, child. You are not of age; your guardianship is in my name. I could have the magistrate’s men fetch you by morning,” she leaned closer, perfume thick and cloying, “and should you resist, Lord Dreadford is quite eager to…resume his interest.”
Christine’s breath caught, but she held her ground. “You lie.”
“Do I?” Gillray’s eyes gleamed, “he and his wife have left town. You will find his company much improved in the country. It need not be unpleasant, Christine. You were always meant for comfort, not honor.”
“You mean your comfort,” Christine said coldly, “not mine.”
“Do not pretend righteousness. I know your kind of virtue, it trembles until the right offer steadies it.”
Christine’s palm itched with the urge to strike her, but she clenched her fists instead. “You will leave this house, Lady Gillray.”
Gillray’s laughter was low, triumphant. “I shall leave when I choose. I came for your sake, to spare you worse humiliation. You think yourself a grand lady. You do not even know the half of it.”
“What do you mean?”
Gillray’s eyes glittered. “I have information about your brother.”
Christine froze. “Charles?”
“I know where he is,” Gillray said softly, “and what he intends. But I will tell you nothing until you come home with me. You owe me obedience.”
“I owe you nothing.”
“Oh, you owe me everything,” Gillray hissed, “your meals, your roof, your very dresses, all paid for with my goodwill. You were a charity case, and a tiresome one. It is time you learned gratitude.”
The sting of those old words, the ones she had lived under for years, rose like bile. Christine lifted her chin.
“Gratitude is not what you want. You want control. But you lost that the day I left your house.”
Gillray’s lips curved. “A duke’s plaything cannot speak of freedom. When he is done with you, you will crawl back to me, and I may not take you then.”
Before Christine could answer, a new voice cut through the air.
“Then she will not need to.”
The sound of boots on marble. The air seemed to sharpen. Tristan strode from the far corridor, his expression cool as tempered steel.
“Your Grace,” Gillray said quickly, executing a curtsy that was more mockery than respect, “I must inform you that this is a private matter between me and my…”
“Former servant,” Tristan said.
