A rapid, heavy thud echoed inside her chest.
‘But now that I have you...’
Without warning, he dropped to one knee.
Her breath caught in her throat.
‘Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
For a moment, time stopped.
This man—this man, suspected of so many dark deeds—was asking for her hand in marriage.
Grace felt both horrified and terrified.
Grace’s stomach twisted in revulsion. She most definitely did not want to marry him. But she also knew that a refusal could bring consequences.
She had to tread carefully.
With a calm she did not feel, she spoke. ‘I am honoured by your proposal, my Lord, and perhaps, were I a younger maid, I might have accepted.’
Edward’s eyes gleamed in triumph.
But she was not finished.
‘However,’ she continued, her voice steady, ‘being a spinster, I no longer desire marriage. I am set in my ways and would not make a suitable wife.’
She took a slow step back. ‘Therefore, with regret, I must decline.’
For the briefest moment, his expression darkened—flashes of anger, of something cruel.
Then, just as quickly, he schooled his features into a forced, charming smile.
‘I am sure I can change your mind,’ he insisted smoothly, rising to his feet. Before she could pull away, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss upon it.
A creeping shudder rolled over her.
‘I do not think I shall change my mind, my Lord,’ she said, her voice firm. ‘You are better off not wasting your time on me.’
His fingers lingered before he released her hand, his eyes gleaming with a quiet determination that unsettled her.
‘I shall devote my time to you, Miss Skye. And court you in earnest.’ His tone was light, but his intent was unwavering. ‘I shall not give up.’ Grace’s eyes widened; it seemed like a threat.
Vexed she could not do more to dissuade him, Grace curtsied stiffly and turned away, feeling his gaze burning into her back. Eventually, he left.
She had escaped—for now. Her knuckles turned white as she grasped the railing.
She barely had time to collect herself before Charles reappeared.
His expression was no longer the nervous, bumbling cousin.
Now, he was the Charles she had always known—the one who took pleasure in cruelty.
‘My, my, cousin, it seems you have done quite well for yourself with the Duke,’ Charles sneered, his tone dripping with malice. ‘Tell me, what has he offered you—aside from Heather’s come-out—that you would agree to such a degrading position? I never imagined you would stoop so low as to become his mistress.’
His words struck like a slap, sharp and wounding. Grace reeled, but she refused to let him see her falter. Tears threatened to rise, but she willed them back, her chin lifting in defiance.
‘Only a mind as foul as yours would think such a thing,’ she countered, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. ‘The Duke is helping us because he is an honourable man—something you, our only male relative, failed to be when you so readily shirked your responsibilities.’
