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Chapter One
Sussex, England
21 Years ago
I sniff the clean English air as I leave the café, pausing for a minute to let the rare sunshine drench my face, warming it. As I do, I glance over my shoulder as discreetly as I can.
He smiles at me.
Him.
Phillip DuBray is still seated at our table, waiting a few minutes before he gets up to leave in his slim-fitting black slacks and dark turtleneck. His smile flashes in the sun and warmth pulses through me, rushing into all of my corners, and God, how was I lucky enough to meet him?
I live each day to see his smile, to hear the soft words he murmurs in his exotic accent as his breath tickles my neck, his fingers buried in my hair. I feel as though I can’t breathe unless I’m with him.
But Fate has a terrible sense of humor.
I’m promised to someone else, and my word must be my bond.
A lump forms in my throat as I hurry away from the café, from town, from Phillip, and I rush back to my real life. As I hurry down the street, I can hear the whispers as people glance at me.
Such a Cinderella story.
Rags to riches, you know.
She’s the most fortunate girl alive.
I almost choke on that one.
Fortunate? If they knew the truth, would they really think I’m so lucky?
I tread lightly on the path to Whitley, the enormous estate on the outside of town. Acres of rolling moors surround it with fog wisping from the ground like fingers beckoning me.
Come home, it seems to say.
Only Whitley isn’t my home. Not really.
It’s my prison.
Desperation breeds obedience, though, and I obediently make my way through the gates and along the cobblestone until I reach the massive wooden doors. I only pause for a moment, to take a deep breath of the cool wet air, and then I disappear inside.
I try to hug the outer halls so that I can pass through to my bedroom without being noticed, but of course my efforts fail.
Eleanor Savage herself bumps into me. Dressed in stern black with her hair in a severe bun at the nape of her neck, she is the picture of a tyrannical matron.
