A Father Sold Her to Cover His Debts — But the Duke Discovered What She Hid Beneath Her Lace
Part 1
Mary stood frozen in the center of the drafty master bedchamber.
Her ivory satin gown felt like a heavy, suffocating cage around her ribs.
The intricate Brussels lace felt rough against her trembling skin.
The November rain lashed against the leaded glass windows of the Stanton estate.
Each drop struck the glass like a tiny, frozen hammer.
She kept her gaze fixed on a tiny imperfection in the floral wallpaper.
Robert, the Duke of Stanton, poured a measure of scotch into a crystal tumbler.
The amber liquid caught the dim light of the dying fire.
The clink of the heavy glass echoed like a gunshot in the oppressive silence.
It was a heavy, suffocating quiet that pressed against their eardrums.
He had purchased her earlier that week to settle her father’s massive gambling debts.
Lord Charles had celebrated the arrangement with a fresh bottle of gin.
It was a sterile transaction of flesh traded for copper and gold.
He loosened his stiff cravat and took a slow sip of the burning liquor.
Mary did not move a single muscle.
Her hands were clasped so tightly together that her knuckles had turned completely white.
She smelled strongly of medicinal lavender water.
It was a desperate attempt by her maid to mask the sour scent of her cold sweat.
Robert turned to face her with a weary sigh.
He told her that he had no intention of forcing himself upon her that night.
He suggested they simply go to sleep.
The expression in Mary’s wide gray eyes was not relief.
It was absolute, instinctual panic.
Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, trapped like a wounded bird.
She told him that the marriage had to be consummated.
Her voice was terribly flat and devoid of any emotion.
She insisted that the sheets had to be seen by the staff.
Robert frowned, his deep voice rumbling with irritation.
He informed her that he ran an estate, not a medieval court.
Mary’s composure cracked, revealing a frantic desperation underneath.
She argued that her father would demand proof.
Her chest hitched as she fought to draw in a shallow breath.
Robert set his glass down on the mahogany sideboard with a heavy thud.
The sudden noise made her flinch violently.
Her shoulders pulled up toward her ears in an aborted movement of pure terror.
Robert snapped that she could take off the gown if it eased her mind.
She felt trapped in the expensive fabric, desperate for air.
Mary reached up with trembling fingers to unfasten the intricate loops at her collar.
She managed the first three buttons before her arms refused to bend far enough backward.
The heavy silk sleeves restricted her reach.
She twisted awkwardly, her breath catching in a choked hiss.
Robert watched her struggle for a long, agonizing minute.
He finally stepped away from the sideboard and told her to stop.
Mary froze instantly, dropping her hands to her sides.
He ordered her to turn around so he could assist her.
She hesitated before pivoting slowly on her heel.
The gown plunged in a deep V-shape down her spine.
The rich material contrasted sharply with the terror in her eyes.
The silken cords of her corset were pulled so savagely tight they bit into her skin.
Robert stepped close enough to catch the overwhelming scent of her fear.
He reached out to loosen the topmost knot.
As his knuckles brushed the fabric over her spine, she jerked away.
It was a violent flinch, as if he had burned her with a hot iron.
He paused, promising quietly that he was not going to hurt her.
Mary whispered to the wall that she knew, but her body remained rigidly locked.
He dug his thumbnails into the tight silk cords.
He dismantled the rigid cage of her corset in absolute silence.
No words could bridge the massive, terrifying gap between them.
The only sounds were the crackling fire and her harsh, shallow breathing.
With a final tug, the restrictive garment released its grip.
Robert stepped back and instructed her to remove the gown.
It was a grotesque symbol of the transaction that had brought her here.
Mary pushed the heavy silk off her shoulders.
It pooled on the floor in a massive heap of expensive ivory fabric.
She stood shivering in nothing but a thin linen chemise and her petticoats.
Robert turned his back to give her a shred of privacy.
He retrieved his scotch and took another long, fortifying swallow.
He savored the sharp bite of the alcohol on his tongue.
He dreaded the mechanical necessity of what society expected from this night.
He heard the rustle of the chemise being pulled over her head.
He heard the soft padding of her bare feet on the cold wooden floorboards.
The cold draft seeped relentlessly through the thick woolen rugs.
Mary announced in a hollow voice that she was ready.
Robert turned around with an irritable sigh already forming on his lips.
The words died instantly in his throat.
She was standing halfway between the discarded dress and the massive bed.
She stood entirely bare from the waist up.
Her back was turned to him as she waited for him to extinguish the candles.
Robert dropped his crystal tumbler.
It shattered violently against the floorboards, sending amber liquor splashing across the rug.
The chill of the room was nothing compared to the ice in her veins.
Mary did not scream or attempt to run away.
She simply squeezed her eyes shut and braced her arms against the nearest chair.
She locked her elbows and waited for the inevitable blow.
