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She noted a sliver of light behind some trellis. Smiling, she rushed forward only to stop as if she had slammed into a wall. “Lord Linfield!” Dreadful understanding rushed through her. “I…It seems I made a mistake. Excuse me.”
Cressida whirled around, intending to rush back outside. The marquess grabbed the sleeves of her gown, ripping at her dress and trying to rip the pin from her hair.
“Stop it, my lord!”
He ignored her, his fingers digging painfully into her arms. Horror burned through her in awful waves. Did he mean to force himself on her? Cressida shoved at him, and he tore the front of her dress. Her cry of alarm choked off as he hauled her to him and kissed her harshly. She bit his mouth in pained retaliation. He recoiled from her with a cry, and she stared at him in shock, stumbling backward and away from his reach. “You beast!”
“You bloody bit me. There is a cut on my lip!” he snapped.
“You deserve more than that! How could you do this?” There was an intolerable ache of tears burning in the back of her throat. “Why must you try to persuade me against my inclinations?”
“You are irrevocably compromised with me, and we must marry,” he snarled. “You are now mine.”
The words were as shocking as being tossed into an icy river. “You are disgusting,” she said cuttingly. “I willnevermarry you.” Though she said the words rather forcefully, there was a heavy fright upon her heart.
There was a slight tightening around Lord Linfield’s mouth, but he replied mildly, “You forced me to this position with your stubbornness, Lady Cressida. In time you will forgive the lengths I had to go to secure your hand, and we will have a good marriage.”
She spun around and rushed her steps toward the door, fearing she might be too late. There would be people right outside.Oh, God.
“I have set all the motions in place. And all the players are arriving now. You’ll not be able to escape this, I’m afraid. Therewillbe an audience once you open that door and given your state of dishabille.Tsk.”
Heavy dread pooled into her stomach when the door opened, and a shadow walked into the room. She shook her head, sharply disconcerted.
Nicholas emerged into the soft light, and the pleasure in his eyes dimmed when he saw her, his hard gaze settling on the hand that suddenly wrapped around her waist from behind.
Dear God.
Pain and shock flared in his eyes before his expression shuttered into icy aloofness. His beautiful face was that of a stranger, giving away nothing. A terrible feeling of loss tore through Cressida and her vision blurred for a second before she blinked back the tears, understanding she had lost everything her heart had been desperately wishing for.
* * *
The sightof Cressida was a crushing fist against Nicholas’s chest. His heart froze and the slide of alarm through his veins was decidedly unpleasant. Pain flared in her eyes. Still, he understood immediately that the marquess had arranged this scene. The man had not expected his arrival, that much was evident. Nicholas had only followed her after observing that she slipped from the cramped ballroom. That was how they had been stealing most of their recent moments together. Daringly stealing away from balls and musicales and then kissing and murmuring passionate words to each other.
“You will remove your hand from her or by God I shall break your fingers,” he hissed with soft menace.
It was as if his words unfroze her.
“Nicholas!” Cressida wrenched away from the marquess and rushed toward him.
Her dress was torn at the sleeve and the pins had been dragged from her hair. Anyone who saw her would think she’d been ravished. “Did he hurt you?”
“I…” Tears pooled in her eyes. “No, not in how you mean. He deliberately tore my dress and…we must hurry and leave; I fear the marquess has arranged for others to come and…I will be irrevocably ruined and forced to marry him to render myself respectable. Please, we must hurry!”
The marquess laughed, and Nicholas fisted his hands to his side. He fought the brutal urge to ram his fist into the man’s mouth. The sounds of approaching footsteps and voices drifted closer, and Cressida paled, slapping a gloved hand over her mouth. As they stared at each other, a shatteringly painful understanding passed between them.
Their time together had ended, and their paths would now diverge. It mattered not that they would find Nicholas here in the conservatory with her and the marquess; it would merely appear as if he had discovered the lovers.
The marquess’s mouth was bruised and hers was also swollen. They were both disheveled, and the damn blackguard would make it clear he had seduced the lady. Nicholas wanted to kill him. He wanted to howl with the anguish he saw in her eyes and the pain that echoed in his heart.
“Oh, Nicholas,” she sobbed. “I cannot bear to marry him.”
“Do not be dramatic, my dear,” the marquess said, sauntering closer. “You’ll be a marchioness. Society will soon forgive this little…sordid scene, and they will clamor to be invited to your balls and drawing room. And whatever you think you had with this…fool will be a thing of the past.”
Cressida swallowed, and she reached for Nicholas, only to lower her hands. “I…I love you,” she whispered. “I want you to know that.”
I love you. Those words pierced him like a damn arrow to his heart. “Cressida?”
The marquess snarled something incoherent, fury contorting his features.
