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Emma sank onto her bed, her body trembling with the force of her suppressed sobs. The tears came then, hot and unchecked. She clutched a pillow to her chest, muffling her cries as she gave in to the overwhelming tide of despair.

The image of George’s charming face haunted her. She had dreamed of a life with him, and those doubts she had desperatelywished were unfounded had been true. Perhaps she should have listened to the warnings her instincts gave her.

The following morning at dawn, Emma sealed four letters she had written. The first three were addressed individually to her mother, Frances, and Agnes. The last one was to the Wingers collectively. She placed her mother’s letter on the fireplace mantle in her bedchamber, propped against a vase, and tucked the remaining three into her reticule.

She donned her cloak and met Antoinetta in the rear vestibule. The weather was still foul, but she did not care. “Are you ready?” Antoinetta asked.

“As ready as I will ever be,” Emma replied, her resolve firm.

Together, they slipped out of the quiet house, the cold biting at their faces. Emma handed the letters to her lady’s maid, her hands shaking slightly. They made a brief stop along the way, where Antoinetta met with a young boy.

“He will have the letters delivered safely. I trust him,” Antoinetta explained after handing the letters to the boy along with some instructions.

Emma gave her a grateful smile and looped their arms. They stopped a hack and gave him instructions to convey them to theoutskirts of town. “Are you sure you do not wish to travel by the mail coach?” Antoinetta asked as they settled in their seats.

“I might be found that way,” Emma murmured, staring out the window. “I cannot allow anyone to find me.” A wistful smile touched her lips. “I might even change my name and become a governess. I have the education for it.”

“Oh, do not sound like a woebegone maiden, Emma.”

“Surely, I am allowed some humor however dreary it is.”

Antoinetta sighed. “We shall be fine.”

As they neared the outskirts of London, the carriage stopped suddenly, jolting Emma and Antoinetta in their seats. They stared at each other in horror, Emma’s mind racing.

“Why did we stop?”

“I do not know.”

The door opened suddenly, and her father’s face appeared. “Where do you think you are going?” Tristan’s voice was cold and menacing, his eyes blazing with anger.

Emma sat rigidly, her chest heaving with fear. “I am leaving,” she said, her voice steady despite the terror that was gripping her.

“You are doing no such thing,” he snarled, reaching and dragging her out of the carriage. His strength was beyond her, and she kicked against him.

Her father threw her to the ground, then did the same with Antoinetta. Emma brushed the rain and mud from her face with the wool of her cloak and staggered to her feet. Her father was not the only menace in front of her, for beside him on horseback was…

Damned Neads!

“I will not marry him,” Emma declared. “I would rather die a thousand times than to be tied to a man I do not love!”

Her father’s face twisted with rage. “You foolish girl! You will do as you are told.”

Emma felt Antoinetta’s hand on her arm. “No, Father. I will not.”

The Marquess dismounted then, his cold eyes assessing her. “You have no choice, Miss Lovell. Your father has given his word, and you will honor it.”

Emma clenched her teeth. “I have my own word to honor, and I will not betray myself.”

Her father’s hand shot out, gripping her arm with bruising force. “You will come with us now!”

Emma kicked against his booted shin. “You would have to carry my dead body back to London!”

Antoinetta joined in kicking him. “Release her!”

“You overstep your bounds!” Tristan pushed Antoinetta, but his hold of Emma’s arm remained like a vice. He raised a fist, but before he could let it fly, the sound of a gunshot ripped through the air.

Emma froze, and so did her father. Time itself seemed to stop as her gaze darted around in frantic search. She was unhurt, she realized. No one appeared hurt.