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She hadn’t really slept, not fully or deeply. Her mind had been restless, caught between the relief she felt at being away from the convent and her trepidation about the uncertain future that lay ahead.

The lady approached the window and gazed at the estate’s grounds. “Frederick and I have discussed your situation. I understand you may not feel particularly inclined to stay, given my grandson’s… less than welcoming demeanor,” she said with a small chuckle, “but I think it would be unwise for you to leave just yet.”

“I do not plan to stay, Your Grace,” Gemma said, her voice firmer now. “I need to keep moving. I have already wasted enough time.”

The Dowager looked at her quizzically, her brow arching. “And where, exactly, do you plan to go, child?”

Gemma hesitated. She hadn’t thought that far ahead but she wasn’t about to admit it.

“Anywhere but here,” she answered vaguely. “I cannot stay where I am not wanted.”

Before the Dowager could respond, the door opened again. Frederick entered, his broad figure casting a shadow over theroom. His expression was as hard as the night before, but there was something else in his eyes; an intensity that unnerved her.

“We need to talk,” he said brusquely, ignoring the Dowager Duchess, his gaze fixed on Gemma.

His grandmother offered him a knowing smile and stepped toward the door.

“I will leave the two of you to sort this out,” she said, and with a wink in Gemma’s direction she quietly left the room.

The air between them became tense as the door closed. Frederick folded his arms across his chest, his voice cold and precise.

“You are not leaving, Miss Bradford.”

Gemma stood up, squaring her shoulders and refusing to be intimidated. “I have no reason to stay, Your Grace.”

“I shall be the person who decides,” he said flatly. “I am not finished with you.”

Her heart pounded, a mixture of frustration and anger bubbling to the surface. “You cannot keep me here,” she shot back. “I am not your prisoner.”

Frederick’s jaw clenched. “No, but you are involved in something far more dangerous than you realize. I know all about St. Catherine’s and what goes on there.”

Gemma blinked, her mind racing. “How are you involved? And what does it have to do with me?”

“Everything,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You think you have escaped that place? You think leaving solves the problem?” He took a step closer, his voice lowering. “There is more to that convent than you know. And I am not letting you leave until I figure out exactly what.”

Gemma’s anger flared. “So, I have traded one prison for another? Is that it?” She let out a bitter laugh. “I have escaped the walls of St. Catherine’s just to end up in another cage, this time gilded, perhaps, but a cage all the same.”

Frederick’s eyes darkened, his patience thinning. “Do not be melodramatic.”

“I am not being melodramatic,” Gemma snapped. “I have spent years under the control of those nuns, and nowyouthink you can control me? Tell me where I can and cannot go?” She rose from the bed and took a step toward him, her voice sharp. “I am profoundly grateful for your hospitality, Your Grace, but keeping me here… it makes you no better than them.”

Frederick’s expression turned icy, but there was a flicker of something raw beneath the surface. He was not used to being challenged, especially not by someone like her.

“You have no idea what you are talking about,” he growled.

“Oh, do I not? I have lived a life of confined hell there, Your Grace. Trust me when I said I know.” Gemma crossed her arms defiantly. “You may be a duke, but that does not give you the right to decide my fate.”

Frederick’s anger was palpable now, but it wasn’t the blustering rage she had expected. It was cold and controlled, dangerous in its quiet intensity.

“You are lucky to be safe in this house,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “I could have thrown you out the moment I found you.”

Gemma’s breath caught in her throat, but she refused to let him see her fear.

“But you did not,” she challenged. “We both know you would never do that.”

For a long moment neither of them spoke. The tension between them was thick and suffocating. Frederick unflinchingly held her gaze, and Gemma saw something behind his cold exterior; a flicker of vulnerability and a shadow of pain.

Before either of them could say another word, the door creaked open. The Duke’s grandmother reappeared, her eyes dancing with amusement as she took in the sight of them standing so close, the heat of their argument still crackling in the air.